To Rule in Hell
by SGCbearcub
Summary: Spoilers S7: Buffy; S5: Angel: The Thousand Year War had begun. The gates of hell had opened and L.A. had become Hell on Earth in truth. Good. Evil It no longer mattered. Or perhaps...it was the only thing that did. B/S
1. Chapter 1

**Illyria**

_The sky was bleeding and she was crippled, deaf to the screams of the green. Entropy oozed from the hole she had torn in the universe, and she wept her grief into the void between worlds. She held Wesley's soul to this place, unutterably and unwillingly precious to her. Wesley was now trapped as she was trapped, impotent and uncertain. He did not understand what she had done and she was too stretched between the then and the now and the here to force the truth into the inadequate shapings human ears could hear._

_She did not count the cost. Wesley was her link to that which had been hers and that which would be hers again. She held him because she wished it. If a certain pet saw her actions as adaptation, it counted for nothing. Spike was significant only in his borrowed loyalty. His opinion lacked understanding._

_Her grief..._

_Strange that she should experience such an emotion after all these eons. She had thought herself beyond such things. It was unacceptable, and yet she clung to them, these inconvenient emotions, when she should let them go. She should have let Wesley go._

_The thought disturbed her and made her angry._

_She had once bestrode worlds and the animals of this one had trembled as she ate of their flesh and drank of their feeble magics. They had evolved somewhat, but she was a sad imitation of herself, that one so insignificant now held her captive to emotions she did not wish, yet could not bear to lose. She hated him, and she loved him, and she did not want these feelings that shattered and split, weaving tendrils of themselves into her being until she was drowning in her own frailty._

_She shuddered as the gaping hole at the core of her stretched and tested its boundaries. It ached, the touch of her power as it flowed through her, ripping and tearing and struggling to become something other than what she wished it to be. She had grown too small to wield power thus, but there was no other option._

_She would not bow to the collective will of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. She remembered the world before, the truth of the balance between what humans called Good and Evil. They sought to define that which could not be named, to control it, and satiate their fears. In the naming, however, they had lost truth._

_Balance was controlled by those with the will to break it._

_If one was willing to accept the consequences._

_The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart had mocked her weakness. They had taken that which was precious to her and they would pay for that carelessness. She was Illyria, and she was not to be discounted. Her kingdom was gone. Her allies ground to dust beneath the weight of millennia. Yet she remained._

_And this world would shape itself once more to her will._


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy still dreamed of killing Spike.

He died in cemeteries, high school hallways, and dark alleys that smelled of piss and rotten cardboard. She killed him in the Bronze, back when the Bronze existed. Back when he was just a neutered vampire whoring cooperation for cash. Pain had been simple, evil was evil, and demons without souls had no desire for love or forgiveness.

Pain was supposed to get better, wasn't it?

Get forged, and all of that.

She had mourned, because Spike had earned that, and no one said a word. No one else really cared, not even Dawn. But she hadn't had to defend her right to grieve. She'd been proud of him, and for once, it had been okay to be proud. He wasn't a dirty little secret. She wasn't above feeling vindicated either, for refusing to kill him.

But she hadn't realized how much she'd miss him.

She had finally been free of Sunnydale and she had looked forward to claiming that life. She found a lover who was confident enough not to take his inadequacies out on her, only to find it wasn't enough. Which was strange, because it had been more than enough at first. It had been easy. Mindless. Thoughtless even. Without the drama of her relationships in Sunnydale.

Then she'd find herself turning around and she didn't know why.

Angel...she missed Angel like there was a hole in her soul. He had accepted the Slayer and everything that meant, but it was Buffy he had seen when he looked at her. He'd loved the girl. The Buffy who defined the Slayer's humanity. He had taken her to movies and given her poetry and he had mourned all the human things they would never get to have.

Except...

...he had wanted something more.

She hadn't understood that about him. Not for a long time. She'd thought he went away trying to do what was right for her. And maybe he had. She believed he had. At first. But that hadn't been all of it, and the longer he'd been away, the less it became about her. More and more, it had become about power. She wasn't sure yet, what she thought that meant. And it didn't change how she felt about him.

But it changed how she felt about herself.

It had hurt. That Spike would love her when Angelus couldn't. Even when she knew it wasn't really love. It had made her feel tainted, that something evil and disgusting would want her. She hadn't wanted to know what ugliness Spike saw inside her that made him think he loved her.

So she had made him pay for it.

He was less than Angel in all the ways that should have mattered. He had been crude and rude and a threat to everything she protected. He smoked too much, and drank too much, and every second sentence out of his mouth was appalling. If he occasionally did the right thing, he did it for all the wrong reasons. He hung around because he didn't have anywhere else to go. He had killed demons because it was the only way he could kill things. As for his twisted obsession with her, she thought the demon had imprinted on her or something. Because of the whole loss of identity thing, after the chip.

But she missed him.

She told herself it was just because she had gotten used to him. Like a stray dog that wouldn't leave once she'd fed him. She told herself it was only natural, having come from a war where having him around had made it easier to breathe. Those times when everything else was falling apart, Spike had been her only constant.

Which was ridiculous.

The only constancy to Spike had been aggravation. And...and...him being a constant pain in her ass. First he tried to kill her. Then he tried to date her. Up was down and down was up and he was so damn needy he made Andrew look emotionally secure. But he was always there, always just...there. Never backing off when anyone else would have been smart enough to leave her alone.

Forcing her to think.

Forcing her to feel.

Forcing her outside the black and white world the Slayer lived in.

_"If you'll turn to page 32, I think you'll be happy with this year's acquisitions for the Library..."_

Buffy obediently turned the page of the report being presented, but her mind refused to pay attention.

Spike had gotten back his soul.

For her.

And part of her had hated him for that too.

She thought she had put her regrets behind her, coming to Rome. She'd been tracking down Slayers and had met the Immortal. A few dates had delayed her departure into September and Rome had seemed as good a place as any for Dawn to finish high school. Besides, Watcher Jr would have had to have been pried from the Vatican Libraries with a crowbar and holy hand-grenade.

_"We've managed to acquire a particularly good translation of the Primacy Codex from Pylia. Rumor has it, it was used as a source text for many of the spells and countercurses used by the Rathman Oracles during the Firthian Wave Migrations. If that's true, scholars may be able to translate the Kittemani scrolls which we acquired back in ..."_

So...Buffy had stayed. Andrew had just sort of tagged along and Buffy had just sort of let him. Like a pet. A really annoying pet who hogged the television and watched Star Trek reruns dubbed in Italian. But he also wore oven mitts. He cooked, did the shopping, and was there to walk Dawn home from school whenever Buffy was stuck in a meeting.

_"...are just basic maintenance. The redesign of the western wall was completed in September and extends the castle's foundation..." _

Ironically, life would have been harder had Spike lived. There wasn't a better "I told you so" then having your chipless vampire lover die to save the world. Not that Giles believed he had been wrong to try to kill him. If Spike hadn't been in the picture, Angel would have worn the amulet. Giles even pointed out that his failure to kill Spike had saved Angel.

As if that made things better.

_"Now that the estate has passed out of trust, Wolfram and Hart is no longer actively managing the estate's finances. You will need to consider the best way to reinvest the capital as it liquidates. This is further complicated by the recent changes to the Slayer power structure. Traditionally, the Slayer has been supported by her family or by her Watcher. Clearly, this needs to be reevaluated. If you will turn to page 67, you will see three prospective financial models outlined..." _

Then two stern-faced priests had shown up at her door.

One had been pleasant, but his smile never reached his eyes. The other had looked at her with contempt and his nose had wrinkled slightly, as if he expected an undead smell to have rubbed off on her clothes. Buffy had been understandably confused when they handed her the deed to a castle.

_"...unlikely we will be able to gain control of the assets of the former Watcher's Council..."_

Five hundred years ago, Lady Sophia Denaldi had been Marcello Denaldi's only child and the Slayer of her day. Her Watcher had been her husband and didn't Buffy just get seriously creeped out whenever she thought about that. Giles had gotten an uncomfortable look on his face when he explained it had been the custom at the time, giving control of the Slayer to her Watcher, and raising no questions as to why they spent so much time alone together.

In any case, Sophia had died young (like that was a big surprise) and childless (not as much of a not-surprise as it used to be), and her husband had turned her dowry over to the Watcher's Council.

_"...build up our resources by training family members as Watchers and operations staff. Some of our wealthier families have come forward with tentative offers of money, land, and political support. We have also been offered land and various grants and subsidies by municipal governments interested in having Slayer Inc open training and research facilities in their cities. I would strongly suggest we accept the offers from Chicago, Hong Kong, and London immediately, with others to be negotiated with..."_

Sophia's father had blamed the Watcher's Council for her estrangement from her family and her death. Sophia's grandmother was a Seer, and warned Marcello he wouldn't father another child, nor live another five years. She had been right. Although that might have had something to do with the fact he never remarried and spent the next four years chasing demons. In the end, it killed him.

In exchange for granting absolution to his daughter's demon-tainted soul, Denaldi turned his entire fortune over to the Church. His castle, his fortune, and his rather impressive library were to be held in trust and used in the war against evil until the day another Slayer needed it to fight demons. Marcello used Wolfram and Hart to draw up the contract, and someone had wanted access to his men and money badly enough to sign in blood. The men were long dead, but the money and the contract remained.

Another trust, another obligation.

Although the castle part was way cool.

_"...food is a serious concern. For security reasons, we may want to consider growing our own supply under controlled conditions in vertical farms on the grounds of our training facilities. It increases our vulnerability to specific acts of sabotage, but insulates us against weather and climate related risks, a growing concern given the global fresh water issue. We..."_

At the moment, Andrew was playing majordomo at Casa de Slayer. So much so, Giles had - only slightly sarcastically -offered to get him into a proper school for English Butlers. Andrew had refused with a sneer. Not Timothy Dalton's style. Buffy was wondering when it would occur to him he'd turned down an offer to be Alfred.

She had all five Batman movies reserved in English for next Saturday. Dawn had agreed to bring popcorn. Without a Hellmouth, Buffy didn't think Andrew's head would actually explode, but there might be some serious eye poppage. Buffy had already picked out his office. It wasn't the biggest room in the castle, but it had a secret passageway to the kitchen. She had even ordered a big board.

_"...and the coven has again expressed its concern over the planned inclusion of magical training for all Watcher candidates. Surveys from active-duty Slayers, however, all suggest that magical attacks are becoming a significant and increasing threat. The Slayers are repeatedly requesting the inclusion of a witch or magically trained Watcher when they go out into the field. Given the low number of current Watcher recruits with an adequate level of magical training and experience, I suggest..." _

Giles and the others feared the money was tainted.

They feared that Buffy would be corrupted...like Angel.

She hadn't known what to think. Slayers generally didn't live long enough for adult responsibilities. They were too busy being foot-soldiers to worry about the concerns of kings and generals. Her role in Sunnydale had been the exception, not the rule. But she had thought she was finally beginning to understand, back when she faced down Quentin and the Council. It wasn't about good or evil.

It was about power.

There had been a simple set of terms to the contract. Giles and Buffy had read and reread the terms of the trust before ever agreeing to accept the Denaldi estate. Then they had Robson, several members of the coven, and Kennedy's father read it - not to mention a neutral demon lawyer recommended by the Immortal. Just to make sure there wasn't any funky fine-print.

For a death-bed contract signed in blood, it was surprisingly funk-free.

At the discretion of Wolfram and Hart, money or assets were to be made available - all or in part - to any Slayer if it were determined that such action was essential to maintaining the balance between good and evil. The estate itself was to pass whole and entire and obligation-free to the Slayer who marked the End of Days. Or the one that succeeded her if she died before they could give it to her.

According to Wolfram and Hart, that was Buffy.

All because of a prophecy about the End Time and the Slayer Scythe.

Of course, they had also pointed out that it wasn't supposed to be now, and it wasn't supposed to be her. She was supposed to be dead. Apparently Buffy played merry hell with their Seers O'Doom. She wasn't supposed to have come back from the dead at all, but the second time really tossed a monkey-wrench into the mix. And resurrecting a Champion for Good allowed Evil to bring forth a Champion of its own.

The who being Caleb, the evil woman-hating son-of-a-bitch.

Buffy was a bit fuzzy on the logic, but according to the nervous flunky who'd had to convince her it was safe to sign on the dotted line, the First had used Caleb to create a situation that forced Buffy to claim the Scythe, which set in motion a prophecy about the End of Days, which allowed the Army of Evil Neander-Vamps to emerge from the Hellmouth and bring about Armageddon without giving The Powers That Be (on the side of Good) the right to interfere.

All of which the First had felt safe to do because Spike - who wasn't ever supposed to have a soul - fell in love with Buffy and tripped a trap set thousands of years ago to nab the vampire warrior destined to play a significant role in the final Apocalypse. Something about hijacking the Shanshu prophecy. That gave the First enough confidence to move on the Hellmouth, thinking it controlled two prophecies about Armageddon. And the Scythe had drawn blood in righteous battle, signaling that the Counting of Souls had begun.

Something the flunky had thought was a Very Bad Idea.

"Buffy...?"

Apparently the Hellmouth in LA was somehow her fault as well.

"Buffy...we need to make a decision about..."

Being the Slayer used to make sense. She used to make sense. Now she was too busy drowning in decisions to figure out which way was up. Too busy to figure out if Spike had burned for nothing, or what the world had won or lost that was worth Angel's life. She was too busy putting out fires in accounting. Too busy trying to feed everybody. Too busy getting caught up in the details to do what she did best.

Kick ass and kill demons.

"Buffy...?"

She looked up and found everyone in the boardroom looking her way. People she knew. People she trusted. People who leaned on her to get the final decisions pushed through, but who really didn't need her day-to-day attention. People who were wasting time trying to explain those decisions to her.

She stood slowly.

"I'm going to L.A." she said flatly. "Decide who is coming with me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Illyria**

_She would not be nothing._

_But she could no longer be what she had been._

This world had fallen.

_The predictions and promises of her Seers echoed in memory, tainted now with the stench of her failure. A failure that would have been unthinkable until the unthinkable had come to be. Her rule, her kingdom, dead and dust. Lost to the fecundity of the Ensoulled and a human science that made no sense to her._

_How her people must have despaired to see the apes prevail. The race should have died out during her long sleep. Eaten themselves into extinction as their hunger for self-gratification turned in upon itself in violence and destructive fury. She had never thought such a primitive and cannibalistic species could have come to control the world._

_But they had survived._

_And her world, her purpose, had fallen. Her army, felled by time. She, who had been a god, was left weakened and without knowledge among people locked into a cycle of insanity. She, who had been the embodiment of certainty, had faltered. Her confidence shaken; uncertain of her place._

_A thousand faithful had laid down their lives to provide the sacrifice needed to preserve her greatness. To maintain her kingdom, she had left it behind. Her present and her past, abandoned for a battlefield of the future. Seven generations of Seers had suffered in barren solitude to map the paths of destiny and choose the moment of her resurrection._

_The End of Days of the Ensoulled._

_So it had been spoken. So it had come to be. Illyria walked the world once more and held consequence in her hand. The Heavens wept and the Primordium trembled. Pain and suffering followed in her wake, and the world was shaped anew. Yet it was Illyria who had been shattered on the anvil of rebirth, and the pain and suffering were her own._

_Suffering acquired a name._

_Wesley._

_How strange were these feelings that haunted her. The tattered shreds of a broken soul twining with one who had never been meant for the touch of such. They changed her. Made her other than what she had been meant to be._

_They were dangerous, these changes._

_She had been purity of purpose. Immaculate. Untainted by the desires that burned through the layers of the Unseen and laid waste to the Primordium. She was no degenerate vampire, shaped in the name of Chaos and set loose in the world of men. Her goals, her plans, belonged to her alone. If Illyria was to be shaped, she would be shaped only by her own intent._

_And the battleground would be one of her choosing._

_Humanity was a plague of Unseen design. Locusts, spreading across the face of the world, heedless of the devastation they left in their wake. Their numbers were too many, their greed, too all consuming. Even now, with the planet breaking beneath the weight of their demands, they capered and danced, laughing blindly as their kingdoms turned to ash. They were deaf to the screams of the green._

_And would not care did they acknowledge it._

_They assumed their souls would save them._

_Witless apes. Significant only in these final days as the count of souls was made. Pain and suffering. Compassion and caring. Empty words spoken by children who used morality as a weapon. Larvae. Mindlessly consuming everything in their path. Cared for by Unseen guardians who twisted the Primordium to shape the army of the Ensoulled._

_And when they were counted, the Unseen would shatter this world..._

_... and destroy them all._


	4. Chapter 4

"Buffy?"

She turned away from the rise and fall of the waves. The USS _Seraphim_ cut through interdicted waters, bringing Los Angeles closer with every nautical mile. Leaning back against the railing, she studied Riley's face with a strange sort of detachment. Physically, he'd changed. Gotten older. Gotten more scarred. She wished the added years had done more than age his face, however. He could fight, and he could kill, but so could everyone else she knew. Beneath the black clothes and lethal weapons, Riley Finn was still the boy next door.

She wondered if he knew that yet.

"We'll find her, Riley."

If she was still alive.

"I should have been with her," Riley said, eyes angry as he scanned the skyline ahead." I was supposed to be with her."

Buffy glanced at the recently healed injuries on his right arm and said nothing. She would have felt the same. Losing someone was bad. Losing them because you were too banged up to watch their back - that was worse. She wanted to tell him Sam and her unit were smart enough to keep their heads down, but Buffy didn't know them well enough to know if it was true.

"They knew what they were facing," she said finally." They didn't walk in unprepared."

Riley didn't answer, and she started to turn back to watching the horizon.

"I'm sorry about Spike," Riley said abruptly.

Reluctantly.

The change in topic caught her unpleasantly by surprise.

"I heard..."Riley said uncomfortably. "After Sunnydale. I heard what he did. I guess you were right not to kill him after all."

He said it with a twist to his mouth that said how bitter those words tasted. She shifted, irritated as ever by the faint praise and undertone of annoyance. They were always annoyed, those who had known Spike, when they tried to praise him. As if his dying to save the world was incredibly inconvenient for them, because they weren't allowed to despise him anymore.

"Everyone keeps saying that," she said softly.

She knew better than anyone, how convenient he had been to despise.

So really, what else was she supposed to say?

Riley didn't talk about Spike. Riley didn't talk about Angel. The entire three months he had spent coordinating this joint assault, Riley hadn't talked about Sunnydale at all. Honestly, Buffy found it easier when he didn't. They had let her grieve, but no one had known quite what to say after Spike cratered the Hellmouth.

Riley turned his head and frowned down at her. "What?"

Damn.

"Nothing," she said with a practiced shrug.

She really didn't want to talk about Spike. For all that a part of her wished Riley still cared enough to push where he didn't belong, she was glad when he didn't push further. Mostly. Something in her had cracked, after Sunnydale. Something that had becoming increasingly clear to her, after she started planning this attack. It didn't feel right, going to war, without Spike at her back.

She hadn't loved him. Not the way she had loved Angel. Not the way he had wanted to be loved. But she hadn't lied either. She hadn't been ready for him to not be there.

And then he died.

And so did Angel.

The world wasn't bright and hard and sharp. It was empty. When she dreamed lately, the Slayer howled with anguished loneliness, but nobody came to find her. Broken stars screamed as they were sucked into the yawning emptiness at her core. Buffy had thought at first she was going mad, except she didn't think madness would hurt so much. She wasn't the only Slayer anymore, she knew that. And yet somehow, every day she was more alone than she had ever thought it was possible to be.

"We'll make them pay, Riley," she said grimly." Tomorrow, we make them pay."

Riley gave her an odd look. "You planning something I need to know about?"

Buffy shrugged." Slayers go in, Slayers kill. Everything else is your department."

Spike and Angel had known what a Slayer was long before she had made her little trip to the past. Not the specifics perhaps, but they had known. They had recognized some part of themselves within her. The urge to hunt. The urge to kill. Even if Spike did use the information to piss her off. Picking and poking and pushing himself where anybody with sense could see he wasn't wanted.

Getting himself burned to cinders.

No one knew where his soul had ended up. No one. Not Giles. Not Willow. Buffy only knew it wasn't gone. As in gone, gone. As in, destroyed by the mystical forces the amulet had unleashed. Nineteen days after Sunnydale, one of the Seers had collapsed, screaming in agony while she looked for him. Which had promptly stopped the coven from looking further, but at least Buffy knew.

His soul was hurt. It was in pain.

So he was probably in Hell.

Even worse, there wasn't a bloody thing Buffy could do about it. There had been nothing she could do going on over a year now, but it was better than the alternative. Gone meant nothing could be done at all. Ever. So tomorrow, she would kill the demons and save the world. Again. Then she would find Spike's soul and get it someplace warm and safe, where he could be loved like he'd wanted. Even if she had to punch a hole into Heaven to do it. He had earned that from her. Maybe he hadn't earned it yet from the world, but the world could make its own decisions.

She had made hers.


	5. Chapter 5

They stormed the beaches in a way Normandy never imagined.

One hundred slayers and five times as many soldiers slipped into the coastal waters off the shores of Los Angeles. Clad in skintight wetsuits and combat rebreathers, they waited. Depth charges arched high above and past them, sinking at precisely timed intervals. Black water rippled, caressing their bodies as submarines far below launched torpedoes.

Missiles slammed into the ocean floor. The explosions weren't nuclear. They weren't even big enough to rock the hulls of the warships floating above and behind them. But they shattered underwater caves, collapsed tunnels, and blocked sea entrances. Then the depth charges went off, blanketing the coastline in an ever-widening arc of underwater concussion that disguised the swimmers and hid the submarines from the underwater demons the Hellmouth had brought to the ocean.

As the swimmers emerged on the shore, they were little more than silhouettes. Spidery black shadows that crept along seaweed-covered rock while fighter jets roared overhead. Launched from distant aircraft carriers, these were mid-range bombers with only one purpose.

Break infrastructure.

The Air Force had learned a costly lesson, building a defensive dead zone around L.A. Burning metal had rained from the sky as demon mages slammed fireballs into fuel tanks and elemental spells ripped wings off jets. Metal corpses still littered the highways leading into the city, rusting skeletons a testament to magic's deadly effect.

Lesson learned, the fighters launched missiles from high above the city, out of sight and out of range. The demons in the downtown core were still turning their heads upwards when the buildings around them began to fall. Tower after tower shuddered and broke apart, collapsing in a vast wave of destruction until the streets were urban canyons filled with smoking rubble and corpses.

A wall of tumbled concrete and rebar emerged from the dust and debris. Satellites tracked the heat signatures and modified attack profiles as the wind shifted. More buildings came down and the wall advanced, slashing hard lines through the city. Interchanges broke apart and sewage tunnels collapsed. Power conduits imploded and water mains cracked. Frightened utility workers drowned or were electrocuted.

When the missiles stopped slamming into the city, the wall surrounded two hundred acres of downtown city core, open on one side to the ocean. Fog and steam hissed upwards where water mains bled onto hot pavement, carrying the stench of burning metal across the city. Tens of thousands of demons were trapped inside the downtown core, along with the Kenilworth International Museum of Art, located ten blocks from the waterfront.

As museums went, the art was second rate, and the architecture uninspired. The museum and three squat office towers formed the corners of a square that covered nine city blocks. The four buildings were connected by the aerial pedestrian walkways that allowed hungry government office workers access to the foodcourt located in the South Tower. The area between the four buildings formed a small outdoor courtyard with iron sculpture throughout and a fountain and orange trees in the center.

In the summer, artists and other kiosk vendors sold plastic jewelry and postcards to tourists.

During the planning stages of the mission, Buffy had stared at the photographs of the four buildings and thought they had to be the most indefensible buildings she had ever seen. Wide windows stretched from the ground floor, almost to the pedways, and Colonel Bast just snorted when she asked if they were bulletproof.

Warning flares pulsed upward from the warships offshore, cutting the sky open and turning it a lurid green. The entire offensive line had already exchanged swim fins for combat boots and when red flares followed , they headed for the alleys and side streets in a deadly swarm. Confused demons snarled and died as the soldiers opened fire. Slayers went for the enemy their instincts understood best. Vampire after vampire, whether hidden in the shadows or standing in the street - they dusted them all.

Given the choice, Buffy would have preferred to attack during the daytime. Vampires were demon foot-soldiers. Easy to make and cheap to feed. Drop a few vamps in a populated area and three days later, the demon had an army. A hard to control and often very stupid army. But deadly, especially at night when cornered on their own territory.

However, satellite imagery showed that the human survivors - slaves – only commuted into the core for the day. At night, they went back to the suburbs. The humans left in the core after dark were the pets and the limited numbers of unlucky ones who would probably welcome death, given the alternative. Most everybody and everything now trapped within the wall was the enemy.

Buffy drew her sword and smiled grimly.

A howl began to build in her head as she launched herself against the demons and felt herself unleash the beast within. She felt them, the slayers around her, felt their dark energy turn toward her as the sound burst from her throat and her sword flashed in her hands. Her muscles elongated and clenched with perfect fury and demons fell as she swept the blade in a furious circle, taking heads and limbs and never pausing as she heard the body parts fall behind.

Pay.

They would all pay.

She felt the smile on her face widen, felt the shifts of the bodies around her as if they were painted inside her head. She leapt to the left, never knowing why, but feeling the catch of bone on metal as she spun and brought her sword crossways and ripped it through armored flesh. Her howl rose to a shriek and she began lashing out faster, spinning faster, killing faster. Demons screamed as she put her entire body into her swings and ichor soaked her hair and ran down her skin.

She fought at the head of her pack, and she fought alone.

For the rest of her life, she would fight alone.

The scream she heard then went on and on, an undulating howl of anguish. The same howl she heard every night in her dreams shattering over an empty desert. Now it echoed off concrete and glass, echoed in a hundred throats, and it was almost loud enough to drown the screams in her head. Demon energy crackled and sizzled along her bones and she felt them, all of them, her sisters as they ran at her side.

They hurtled cars and broken streetlamps. They howled as their enemies shattered and fled screaming before them. Slayers leapt upon the stragglers and brought them down. Blood ran black under green-tinged light and it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

She reached the building with the ridiculous windows and stopped. Felt her slayers rush past her in the dark. They raced past the towers and into the alleys, breaking up into groups of three. Buffy felt the dark energy that tied her to them stretch and crack, again and again as they split off, hunting and clearing the streets around their objective. She held the bunker until the soldiers arrived.

She watched silently as they ran past her, into the museum. Most of them glanced at her with concern and some degree of horror. She heard gunfire and knew they were finishing off the few demons who had taken shelter inside the buildings.

"Buffy?"

She tipped her head slightly. Enough to show him she was listening but not enough to lose sight of the two side streets she was watching. Riley smelled of sweat and blood and fear. Buffy knew she should regret the look in his eyes, but she had an objective. She needed everyone to be absolutely clear about what she was capable of doing to achieve it.

"The area is secure," she told him flatly.

He swallowed, then roughly gestured two squads to check the streets ahead. She already knew what they would find, but Riley wouldn't be satisfied until they reported it was all clear.

"Now what?" she asked, patience gone ahead and lost with the slayers still hunting in the dark.

Riley turned his head and motioned curtly toward the museum. "Now we do what we came here to do."

She followed him into the building, shattered artwork crunching beneath her boots. She would have thought the soldiers would be off doing recon stuff, but they were all gathered in the atrium. Colonel Bast was standing by the reception desk, waiting impatiently. He raised an eyebrow and Riley pulled a key from around his neck. Bast already had one in hand.

"You should probably stand a bit farther from the windows," Riley said to her.

She narrowed her eyes, but stepped closer to the men in the center of the room. Bast inserted his key into a lock near the phone while Riley touched a tile on the wall near the door. It slid aside and Riley inserted his key into the lock that was revealed. He took a deep breath, then slammed a hand against a big red button marked Fire Alarm. Buffy glanced up suspiciously as alarms began blaring and red lights flashed overhead.

Bast nodded sharply, and both he and Riley turned their keys.

Buffy saw several soldiers glance at each other in question before a rumble passed through the floor beneath them. Riley turned away from the wall and hunched his shoulders as the windows started breaking. They exploded inward and people ducked as thirty feet of safety glass began to rain down upon them.

High above, metal shutters groaned and clanged into place. They slammed shut, floor by floor, closing out the moonlight and the dying flares. Inside those ridiculous windows, foot thick slabs of concrete were rising from the floor. Through the gaps, she could see the same thing happening to the tower across the courtyard.

Buffy glanced at Riley. "Nice trick."

He grinned, then clicked his radio button in something she had to assume was a prearranged signal. "It gets better."

She followed him as he walked across the lobby. Outside in the courtyard, the sculptures were shifting. Rotating and unfolding with metallic squeals. Modern art began to look a lot like modern day communications equipment.

The sound of metal socketing into place had her peering through the orange trees. For a moment, she thought it was more sculpture moving about. With the local power grid down and the street lights out, she hadn't immediately realized why she couldn't see the street on the other side of the outer fence. She stared at massive walls where delicate fencing used to be.

"It's a castle," she said with disbelief.

Running from tower to tower, the monster walls must have hidden below the flower beds and fencing. They had to be three feet thick, she thought, a bit stunned by the scope of the project. The flower beds had been carried upwards along with the fencing, the pointed spikes of which had slid into place into the outside bottom edge of each pedway.

The three elements - the walls, the iron fence, and the enclosed pedways now formed a defensive barrier almost forty feet high. And the iron fencing that had seemed so flimsy at ground level, now seemed much more sensible. Not as strong a defense as she might have wished, against demons.

Strong enough considering it had been designed with humans in mind.

"And how long have you known your museum was a Transformer?"

Riley glanced at her, then smirked slightly.

"Our next objective is to secure the streets around this place against heavy vehicles," Riley said, moving toward a set of stone stairs that led to the top of one of the walls. "There are more walls underneath the streets leading here. Once my teams have made sure the intersections are clear of rubble, they'll start activating them."

"So all we have to worry about is things that can fly," Buffy said, not as flippant as she'd have been three years ago." And demons with rocket launchers."

Riley blinked, clearly not certain if she was joking. "Pretty much, yeah."

Then he frowned, looking disturbed.

Buffy sighed and stood on the wall with him, looking through the iron bars at all the windows in the skyscrapers still standing around them.

"So..."Riley said," demons are pretty useless when it comes to technology."

"Yep."

"I mean, I've never run into any that seem to have two clues to rub together."

"Uh huh."

"And these demons, they're from another dimension."

"Lots of dimensions, according to Giles. Based on what the refugees said."

"Rocket launchers..." Riley was silent for a moment. "Really?"

"Not my first concern," she admitted. "But vampires? Adaptable."

"Adaptable."

"Yep."

Riley looked at the blood soaked streets and the bodies on the other side of the castle wall.

"Damn."


	6. Chapter 6

**Illyria**

_The players were gathering._

_And the shell...the shell was breaking under the strain._

_It hurt, the reminder of all she had lost. Beyond want. Beyond agony. Yet there was grace within the truths she was discovering. There was a place once more in this world, for one such as herself, if she was willing to pay the price._

_And her will would be made manifest once more._


	7. Chapter 7

Here and there, fires still burned.

They glowed a sullen red within pits of broken concrete and rebar. From the rooftop of a gymnasium almost sixteen miles north of the wall of rubble that surrounded the downtown core, Spike lit a cigarette and stared toward the center of Hell.

Well, Hell on Earth anyway.

He flicked the ash away from him in a mindless gesture and watched the last of the sunset bleed from the sky. Beneath his feet, the roof vibrated slightly as the sleepers within began to crawl from their bedrolls.

"Just another day in Paradise, eh pet?" he asked humorlessly.

Rachel looked up from where she was polishing the edge on her knives and said nothing. The blankness in her eyes made him itch to hit something. Whether Rachel or somebody else, he still wasn't certain. He'd seen broken Slayers before. More than he wanted to, these past months. But there was something wrong with that emptiness in her eyes.

He understood Katarina much better. That bitch was pure hatred. Slayer strength and cracked in the nob what with all she'd endured after Hell came to town. Strung tighter than a piano wire, she was.

Spike sighed.

"You are unhappy?"

Spike turned his head slightly, still not reconciled to the fact he could see Illyria, but not smell her. Bleeding ghost. And a right royal pain in his ass. Most times, he wasn't fit to crawl in the mud at her feet - or so she said. Repeatedly. Then she'd take out the entire demon horde between herself and the nearest convenience store because her pet had run out of smokes.

Damned unpredictable was what she was.

"Just wonderin' how the war is going on the other side of the wall, Highness."

She turned ice-blue eyes on the night and stood there, tasting the wind for all he knew.

"It will not be much longer," she said flatly.

"Until what?" he asked warily.

"Until she comes for you."

For a moment, the words refused to assume their proper shape and order. Then the pain hit and without thinking, he bared his teeth and snarled. Just like an animal, he thought bitterly, as she ignored him. A poncy trained poodle dressed in fine feathers and walking on its hind legs for the amusement of passers-by. He swallowed against the growl rumbling in his throat.

"Don't know where you're getting your information, Highness, but if the Slayer is coming for anybody, she's coming for Angel."

Illyria swiveled her head, her interest clearly caught by the edge to his voice. She eyed him, her head tilted back at that strange angle that was becoming familiar. He was never certain if it was a mannerism left over from her old body, or if the former god simply hadn't gotten a complete set of instructions when she infected Fred.

"She is a king, building her kingdom," Illyria said finally. "She will not long suffer another like onto herself within her domain. Or is it that you doubt she has need of you?"

Spike snorted. "It isn't always about what you need, Highness. It's about what you want. And the Slayer has always wanted Angel. Now he's human again, she won't have any use for me. Not that she ever really did."

Illyria seemed thoughtful at that, as if he had said something of interest.

She cocked her head. "And yet you would join her. If she wished it. Dine at her feet and live for what scraps of affection she might throw your way."

Spike hesitated, then shrugged." Well...yeah."

Illyria's gaze shifted, growing remote. "Were I myself, with my kingdom around me, I would kill you for those words."

He eyed her warily. "Is that a warning?"

Illyria frowned slightly, as if puzzled. "No vampire. It was a compliment."


	8. Chapter 8

Angel the Avenger and the chip off his shoulder were going at it hammer and tongs. Spike could hear them yelling at each other in the kitchen as he made his way to the fridge for a nibble. Ignoring the poisonous glares and seething hatred, he grabbed a jar of A-positive and eyed the selection of blood-filled pickle jars with interest.

"Someone make a supply run I don't know about?" he asked, not quite certain whether to be relieved at the provisions or annoyed at the lack of being kept informed. Then he wondered if Angel had been kept informed and felt a snarl curl his lip.

"One of the new Slayers is a paramedic. She made the rounds for donations." Conner paused at the look on Spike's face. "They were all volunteers," he assured them.

Both older men stood frozen, gazes riveted to the jar in Spike's hand.

"That's Slayer blood?" Angel demanded harshly.

Conner glared over his shoulder contemptuously. "Don't worry. We diluted it." He returned his attention to Spike. " The civilians wanted to help, too. It's about a five to one mix. Shouldn't give it too much of a kick."

Slayer blood.

Spike felt his eyes and teeth start to go at the thought. Even diluted, he'd be able to taste it. Feel it. Instinct wanted to growl at Angel. Warn the other man away from his prize. Spike could feel the weight of Angel's stare and vampire instincts warred within him. The urge to protect his kill was doing battle with an annoying desire to share the victory. Spike scowled, then wrenched the lid off the jar and deliberately swallowed the whole lot.

Every last effervescent drop.

"Spike..."Angel said, his voice dark with warning.

"Get stuffed," Spike snapped. "We're running low on rats, in case you hadn't noticed. Not like you'd say no either, in my place." He shuddered slightly as he felt a frission of heat and power slither through his veins.

Having L.A. cut off from the rest of the world was playing ducks and drakes with their ability to get fresh supplies. With all the demons running loose, even rats were getting hard to find. He supposed it was harder on the inside of the rubble wall. The demons were probably eating each other by now, and he hated the thought of Buffy trapped in there with them. Not a bloody thing he could do about it, either.

Not yet.

Last he heard though, Buffy had an army in there with her. The Slayers on this side of the Big Wall only had him. If he needed to, Spike was confident he could get inside, but not with taking anyone with him. Not and have them living-like on the other side. Buffy would despise him if he abandoned the slayers. And he wouldn't feel so great about it, himself.

"We can find something else," Angel said.

"Yeah? Don't really care, here."

Concern had leeched the anger from Conner's face and he took a hesitant step toward Spike. Spike glared, instinctively clutching the empty jar more tightly. The kid wasn't a vampire, but he almost smelled like one. Close enough, anyway.

"Don't go any closer, Conner," Angel said quietly.

Conner paused, then gave Spike an assessing glance. "You okay?"

Spike's answering grin was slightly manic. " Human blood, eh? Slayer blood is pure jet fuel." He gave Conner a warning look. "You smell like competition, mate."

Conner straightened, his body slipping into a wary stance.

"Don't do that," Spike muttered.

Conner didn't relax his guard, but he did back up a step or two, which helped. The move, however, put him closer to the Slayers in the other room - which didn't. Angel sighed and yanked on Conner's arm, dragging the boy away from the door.

"Yeah. Just...stand over there for now," Spike said.

Conner glanced back and forth between them. "Are the girls in danger?"

Spike gave him a disgusted look. "Well I wouldn't have drunk it if I thought that would happen, now would I?" He looked at Angel. "The boy inherited your brains. Clearly."

Then the lust hit, and there wasn't a buggering thing he could do about it, except close his eyes and bang his head back against the wall a couple of times. When he opened his eyes again, Angel was staring at him in a way that was partly sympathetic, partly amused, and mostly annoyed.

"I'm gonna go hit something," Spike mumbled.

"You do that," Angel said.

Angel stalked through the doorway, which actually made it easier because it put the father between the son and the Slayers. Spike wasn't thrilled about much when it came to Angel, but instinct did have its uses.

"I know you don't like my father."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Figure that out all by yourself, did you?"

Conner looked back at the doorway. "So why don't you care if he's in there with them?"

For the bleeding non-life of him, the boy sounded hurt.

"He doesn't smell like vampire," Spike mumbled. "And he sired Dru. It makes things...complicated."

Conner flashed a startled smirk. "I smell like vampire?"

The boy looked pleased by the discovery. Which was nearly as messed up as Spike's own relationship with Angel. Spike hadn't been present for the first ten rounds with Conner, but the boy had cause to hate Angel. The now-human vampire had called the wrath of Wolfram and Hart down on L.A., and indirectly killed the boy's foster parents. Spike suspected the only reason Conner hadn't lost it entirely was Julia. The foster sister Wolfram and Hart had given him was one of the Slayers in the gymnasium.

It sort of made Spike wonder why the law firm had one of that bloodline tucked away in the first place.

"What do Slayers smell like?" Conner asked curiously.

"To me, or vampires in general?" Spike asked sourly.

Because the two answers weren't as similar as they should be.

Conner shrugged.

Spike thought for a moment. "Women."

A heady mix of alpha female and power. Vampire - almost. Human - almost. Mostly predator, but with a tantalizing underbelly of prey. It made him angry, how vulnerable they were. How easy it would be, with most of them. The vampire part of him liked that vulnerability, liked hunting them. Liked it a lot. Spike liked the challenge, and the dark knowledge in their eyes when they finally recognized him.

"They smell dangerous, mate."

And they were his.

Buffy, of course, was in a class all her own. With her, the demon wanted to chase her down and drown in the scent of her blood as it surged through her veins. Power and life, seething just beneath the softness of her skin. Bloodlust and desire was what she was, twined together, creating him anew, and ripping him apart. Sex, and a deeply hidden desire to feed her. He dreamed of his own blood staining her mouth as she sucked the wound dry.

At least he'd never been fool enough to tell her that fantasy.

She'd have staked him right and proper.

Conner smirked. "A vampire with a Slayer harem."

Spike felt himself flush. After all these years, the part of him that was remembering William Pratt could still be embarrassed. Embarrassed, but practical. After Buffy, everyone knew Spike had a thing for Slayers. Truth or not, the rumors spread, especially when people were encouraged to tell other people the pertinent rumor.

_William the Bloody liked dangerous playthings._

Spike had done his best to spread a few rumors of his own, with Rachael and Katarina's help.

"Do you miss it?" Conner asked abruptly.

When Spike looked at him, the boy had his eyes fixed on the empty doorway.

"Miss what?"

Conner shifted uncomfortably. "Being human?"

There was a loud silence, like pressure on the ears as Spike thought that one through. Not for the first time, either. He'd been thinking about it a lot, ever since learning about the Shanshu prophecy. After drinking the bloody cup of Mountain Dew and then having doubts.

He had won. For the first time in his entire history with Angelus, Spike had won. Then the whole mystical bugaboo that might have proved he was worth something turned out to be a bunch of horseshit. It was odd, how hard he had fought, because he hadn't thought he gave a rat's ass about atonement or redemption. Buffy, however, believed in those things, which sort of answered that question.

"A man wants things," Spike said finally.

Sometimes those wants changed over the years.

And sometimes they didn't.

"Did you want kids?"

Spike shrugged. Conner was on his own, when it came to how he felt about Angel. Spike tried to remember exactly what William had wanted, all those years ago. Someone who would love him. Who would see him the way his mother saw him - as someone of worth. Spike didn't remember pushing prams in the park as being part of that desire, but then, it was sort of a package deal.

"Not saying it wasn't part of the master plan," Spike answered slowly. "The one went with the other, back then. All happy families, right? But it would have been all about the women, mate. Cecily and me Mum. Thought I was signing on to be Cecily's knight in shining armour, didn't I? Didn't really think too hard about the particulars."

Spike frowned as he contemplated that thought.

He remembered being sixteen and escorting his mother to the theatre for the first time. All the women in their gem-colored silks and mysterious smiles. Shy gazes peeping from behind gently fluttering fans. Curves, and lace, and orange blossoms. Necklines that hinted at hidden treasures and shadowy places he longed to explore.

William Pratt had loved the theater.

_Wants changed over the years._

For the length of a ticket, he could dream the heroine loved him.

_But sometimes they didn't._


	9. Chapter 9

"You done being stupid?"

Spike didn't bother to turn around and listened to the footfalls as Angel joined him on the roof. He wanted to think, and if he was careful about how he went about it, sometimes, he could forget his anger. He could put aside his conviction that Angel had stolen something from him. Something precious. Something he could never get back.

Not his soul.

Something else.

Something other than Buffy.

He wasn't a fool, much as his obsession with the Slayer had made him one these past few years. He knew his relationship with Angel was complicated. It had given form and structure to his very existence. Shaped the conflicts that had shaped him. With Angelus, it had always been the same question. Was Spike worthy?

Was he strong enough to take the pain?

"I know thinking ahead isn't all that high on your priority list," Angel said sarcastically." But drinking Slayer blood? That is monumentally stupid, even for you."

"That's where we're different, Peaches," Spike said, deliberately careless. Knowing it would annoy the shit out of the former vampire." It's not a problem for me."

He'd done it, hadn't he? Taken the pain. Let his flesh sizzle in the sunlight to prove himself to Angelus. Threw himself into the heart of the fight. Let every blow, every bruise, hammer him until it beat the weakness out of him. And nothing was ever enough. He found the tenderest children for Dru. Blocked the exits and burned the righteous down, just to see Angelus smile. He'd even bowed his head to that bitch Darla, because his dark goddess and her sire wished it. Never enough.

None of it, ever enough.

"You don't even know Buffy is inside the Wall."

Spike snorted with disgust." She sent her slayers into Hell, you git. Of course she's here."

Angel's mouth tightened, but he didn't disagree.

Spike had spent weeks trying to put labels on this urge or that, after his soul had fractured him into pieces. This belonged to the demon. That to the man. Remembering William so Buffy could stand to be around him. Only that hadn't been enough either. She'd wanted the monster. She'd wanted the monster because the monster could fight. Could protect those she loved. It was all she'd ever wanted from him. And demon and soul agreed. He was hers. So that was it then. Nothing he could do except weld the pieces back together and fight at her side.

After that, there had been no time for self-reflection.

"She won't thank you for risking the lives of her Slayers."

"You just won't let it go, will you? They aren't in any danger from me." Spike cocked his head. "Surprised you don't know that. And they aren't her Slayers, mate. They're mine."

Even Spike was a bit surprised by the possessive snap in that sentence.

Angel scowled,"And you're just panting to give them to her."

Spike grinned ruthlessly. "Competition is a bitch."

"Yeah? Well..."Angel crossed his arms. "I've got a dragon."

Spike pursed his lips," Dear Dr. Ruth. My Sweetie-Pie hates the droppings in the courtyard and the scorch marks on the laundry. Whatever should I do?"

Angel leaned forward. "It's a BIG dragon."

The demon snarled and Spike felt sick, resisting the urge to tear into the man who was going to get everything Spike wanted. How had Dru put it? Let the blood flow, like beautiful poetry. William would have cried. Spike had learned other weapons, after the soldiers had crippled him. Oddly enough, the same lesson Angelus had tried to teach him.

How to damage them, without striking a blow.

Angel was tensed, expecting physical retaliation.

"Wouldn't want to mar that pretty face before Buffy sees it," Spike taunted. "It's about all you're good for, now that you're human."

Rage and some other emotion flashed across Angel's face. Then he launched himself forward. Spike yelped as Angel got in a couple good blows in painful areas. Spike growled in futile rage until he realized he could hit back. Not even Buffy could bitch if Angel threw the first punch. Well...she could. And probably would. But the high ground was his, and he planned to enjoy it.

Angel had gotten him in a headlock while he thought about his options, and they rolled across the rooftop. Spike tried to shake him loose without flinging him over the edge of the building, yelling with annoyance when the ponce sank blunt human teeth into his ear.

"Hey! No fair."

He jabbed an elbow into Angel's ribs and the grip on his neck loosened. A knee connected with a kidney and if there wasn't enough power there to break anything, Angel still remembered how to bruise a vampire. Spike was scrabbling for a better hold when they slammed into something unyielding. He flung out his left hand looking for a handhold, grabbing Angel with his right, thinking he'd lost track of the building.

He looked up into Illyria's cold blue eyes and froze.

Angel craned his head around to see why Spike had stopped moving and Spike felt human muscles tense warily. Fear scent climbed and Spike looked down in surprise. Angel's eyes were fixed on Illyria, not the vampire holding him down. Spike looked at Illyria and narrowed his eyes at the way she was watching them.

"Puppies," she said with contempt, "snapping and snarling over the last bit of gristle. We have more important work this day."

Angel started to say something, then paused and rolled his eyes back to look at Spike. "Did she just call Buffy a piece of gristle?"

Spike grunted. "You don't want to know what she calls you."

Before either of them could make a move to untangle themselves, Conner popped out of the stairwell. He paused, cocking his head as he stared down at them.

"You two should just get a room," the boy said evenly.

Angel sneered, and sent Spike sprawling onto his back with one good shove to the shoulder and a firm toe against his hip.

"He started it," Angel said, climbing to his feet so slowly that Spike scowled at him, wondering at the careful way he was moving.

"What happened to you?"

Angel gaped at him." You happened, you idiot."

"Not even humans are that breakable, mate."

"Yes, Spike," Angel snapped," they are. You'd know that, except they never got up again after you broke them."

The implied weakness and the stiff way Angel was standing bothered Spike beyond the instincts that were screaming there was a wounded meal within reach. Bothered him on a lot of levels he wasn't prepared to pick apart today. But the biggest botheration didn't need much contemplation.

"You really are going to be a liability to her," he said slowly.

Hating the words, because to say them admitted he had no chance with her. Not that he ever had, but while he'd said the words, telling himself that she was always going to choose Angel, something deep inside had resisted believing them. Angel becoming human had chipped away at that disbelief, and now he needed to say them.

To keep her safe.

"Buffy knows how to fight around humans," Angel muttered, not meeting Spike's eyes.

"Yeah, mate. But they know their limitations. You fight like you still think you're a vampire."

The pain and anger in Angel's eyes shocked Spike silent, the next words dying on his tongue.

Illyria's voice rang in the silence between them.

"You give power to that which was never more than a weapon of the Unseen."

Spike came to his feet, not even questioning the need to stand at Angel's side. Illyria was a bigger threat than any ponce of an ex-vampire. He could scrap with Angel later. For once, the ex-god was regarding them with something that seemed like concern. Conner hesitated, as if he wanted to take himself off, and away from the conversation, but couldn't decide how serious the situation was. He compromised by stepping back into the stairwell, staying close, but out of sight.

"You let yourselves be divided for that which is immaterial."

Illyria's eerie gaze went to Angel's face. She tilted her head. "Do you imagine your humanity to be anything more than a curse, human? Does it benefit your lost kingdom or your desires?"

Angel looked back at her impassively.

Illyria turned her attention to Spike. "You see the human weakness, but not the weapon that was lost. You compare yourself to his strength and see defeat. If you would stand at her back, you must abandon this construct of morality that informs you of failure."

"I didn't fail." Spike knew this, as sure as he knew what he was. He hadn't failed.

Her unexpected smile was pleased. "You are correct, vampire. You served your interests. Your reward for success was success."

Spike blinked."Yeah, right. Whatever."

She cocked her head. "You believe his condition a reward. You think yourself marked as unworthy. " Her attention snapped to Angel who was watching in narrow-eyed silence. "I had thought you understood more clearly, the battlefield upon which you stand."

She walked to the edge of the building and looked down. From the street below, Spike could hear the murmur of voices as the Slayers went about their business. Shadows slipping into the shadows, hunting for demons, food, and survivors. Across the street, and on other rooftops, he knew hard-eyed Slayers would be looking down on the same streets, keeping watch. His Slayers, keeping their territory safe.

"Vampires were created to serve Chaos," Illyria said, her upper lip curling with distaste." The strength of a demon housed within a shell evolved to incubate a soul."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it." Spike muttered." An instrument of evil."

"No vampire," she denied flatly." A splintering of the natural order. An ape without a soul. A demon with the desires of men. A question, posed by Eligor, about the nature of choice and the corruption of free will. A question which required the Universe to answer."

Illyria turned her head and regarded Angel with an intense stare. "There exist prophecies which must occur - which must be made to occur - least the forces channeled by them tear the Primordium asunder." She glanced at Spike, then turned her body to face Angel. "One born of Chaos cannot be ruled. He may only be...influenced. To select a child of Chaos as the pivot point for the End of Days, answers the question."

"And the Shanshu Prophecy?" Angel asked after a moment, ignoring the opportunity to ask more about the question.

Illyria tilted her head as if confused he did not know the answer. "Such a child stood to gather power. Steps were taken to mitigate the damage."

"So he got turned human by being a big boy scout," Spike asked sceptically,"and what? It's a punishment?"

"This world was stolen by the Unseen to nurture a random act of evolution. To protect a breeding ground for souls," Illyria said, a faint flicker of something that looked like disgust burning in her eyes. " Do you even know why your species suffers?"

"The End of Days," Angel said shortly.

Illyria sneered." Always you see the obvious. The game instead of the prize. Think, Ape. Reach beyond that which you have been told."

Spike blinked, then remembered something he had once read. "The Counting of Souls?"

Illyria gave him a bitter smile. "Always to that end, vampire. Each action, each expenditure of power, carefully balanced against how a prophecy might be manipulated to best advantage. Sometimes it is outcome that is desired. Sometimes, the expenditure of power the enemy must make to keep the universe from spinning into Chaos. "

"Is that..."Angel started to say, then checked. His mouth twisted before he continued in a low voice. "Is that why the Powers saved me? Brought me back from Hell? Made it snow in Sunnydale?"

Illyria regarded him unblinking. "You needed to survive. In case you were the answer to the question."

Spike looked between them." So that's it then? None of the rest of us sodding matters?" He glared at Angel," Isn't that bloody typical."

"It is a role that protects him no longer," Illyria pointed out." Consider that as well."

"So, what?" Spike demanded. "They made him human and...and..." He narrowed his eyes. "Is this about Buffy?"

Angel grimaced and raised his hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "Not everything is about Buffy."

Illyria stood silent, watching Angel.

The ex-vampire lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes, mirroring Spike's suspicion. "Or I could be wrong."

Illyria rolled her shoulders. An odd sort of shrug that communicated nothing.

"Is he right?" Angel demanded. "Is this about Buffy?"

Illyria tilted her head." It is about power."

"You know," Angel said curtly," I'm getting _really_ tired of that answer."

"Then pay attention, "Illyria snapped. "I weary of repeating myself."

"Fine," Angel bit out." I'm paying attention."

Illyria's lip curled.

Angel inhaled sharply, then visibly forced his shoulders to relax. "Okay. I'm paying attention," Angel said again, audibly forcing the irritation from his tone. "Please."

There was a beat as Illyria contemplated the man in front of her. "You have already glimpsed the truth. You held a kingdom within your grasp, and gave them the power to take it away."

Angel looked startled.

"You were bound to your fate the moment you signed the original prophecy," Illyria said bluntly.

"How did you know...?"Angel asked slowly.

"I have conversed on the subject," Illyria said, not answering the real question. And not saying with whom she had conversed.

Spike eyed her warily. An ex-god with plans was not a comfortable ally.

Not much better than ex-vampires, really.

"What does she mean?"

Angel glanced at him uncomfortably. "It wasn't supposed to...the Shanshu. I signed it away. To get the Black Thorn to trust me."

"Oh, well, that's all right then, isn't it?" Spike snarled. "Congratulations. Worked like a charm."

"It was his to claim," Illyria said.

Spike growled. "So I never had a shot? Not hero enough for the ruddy Powers That Be?" He shook his head." Know what? I don't sodding care. Didn't want to be human anyway."

Illyria looked at him expressionlessly. "His blood acceptance of the prophecy allowed the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart to claim it on his behalf. Free will, vampire. Theirs and his. Decision and choice are all that bind a child of Chaos."

"So they did it deliberately," Angel said, with the beginnings of anger. "The Black Thorn was bait. To get me to sign the Prophecy."

There was silence.

"Tell me I'm wrong." Angel said, his voice hard." Tell me this isn't exactly what they wanted."

" You are bound now," Illyria said emotionlessly," by the human condition. You will be counted, with all the rest. The pivot point is past, and Chaos is no longer a power you possess."

"But I do," Spike said flatly.

"Yes, vampire," Illyria said." But you are not a king. Nor possess the constitution to become one."

Spike snapped his head back, feeling like he took a blow.

"I did it. Got my soul back," he protested." For the right reason."

It was the one thing that had given him hope.

That even soulless, he had been the better man.

"But you fought naught for a kingdom."

Spike raised his head proudly. "No, I did it for love. That's more important."

"Is it?"

Spike jerked around, as surprised by the words out of Angel's mouth as he seemed to be.

"Is it?" Angel asked again. "That's what we are discussing aren't we? Which is considered more important by the Powers That Be? Love or honor?"

"I don't give a bloody good god damn about the bleeding Powers That Be!" Spike yelled.

Illyria smiled.

"You see a conflict, where none exists." She stabbed a finger toward Spike and stared intently at Angel. "He is an anomaly. Brought into creation by the actions of those attempting to control Destiny, and your example. You see competition where you should see opportunity. Seize it."

"Opportunity for _what_?" Angel demanded, exasperated.

Illyria glided toward Spike, maintaining eye contact with Angel over her shoulder. "He could be useful. Ensuring her safety. Providing her pleasure."

"Hey!"Spike pulled away sharply as Illyria ran one forefinger up his arm. "Don't...I...what?"

She moved behind him, even as he twisted, trying to keep a wary eye on her.

"He is well-made, for a half-breed. It should not be difficult to imagine her pleasure - her desire - as he touches her. The joy he could bring her."

"No. No." Spike stated, dancing away from Illyria's hands. "No imagining. I don't want him imagining anything. And just for the record, you're not using me to get to Buffy."

Illyria studied him, not nearly as insulted by his defiance as he'd assumed she would be. "Yes," she murmured, a touch wistfully." I would have been forced to kill you."

Spike scowled.

Illyria turned back to Angel, who had not moved. "Your love is a paltry imitation of the emotion," she said contemptuously.

"No argument from me, Highness," Spike said darkly. " But much as I like sticking pins in the bastard, that's hitting below the belt."

"She's right."

Spike swiveled around, incredulous." Did I knock you too hard in the head, mate?"

"You're saying you could do it?" Angel demanded. "Be happy for her. Day after day, and still be there for her. If she chose me."

_When she chooses me_, was the unspoken assumption.

Spike clamped his teeth around another growl. Images of Buffy with Angel flooded his head. Buffy smiling at the bastard, radiant with a joy Spike had rarely seen after everything that had happened to her. Never with him. Never for him. He could almost see her, walking on the beach with the sun turning her hair to molten gold. She blinded him, glowing like that. Casting the man at her side into shadow.

But he knew who that man wasn't.

"I certainly wouldn't be happy for me," Spike muttered resentfully.

It would rip his heart out, in point of fact. But maybe she'd smile again. He supposed that was something.

"But you would be happy for her?" Angel snorted with disbelief. "Please."

Spike resisted the urge to hit him. The choking sensation was back, and an overwhelming sense of grief and loss and futile rage his demon didn't know how to deal with. He wondered if souls could bleed. He turned his head away and Angel went still, his scent shifting wildly.

"And thus we see the face of your conflict," Illyria said quietly." His is the bigger heart, the truer love. It is why he bothers you so."

"Or it could be because he's a monumental pain in the ass,"Angel snapped.

"Yet it is you who is fit to lead."

Angel froze.

"It is you who is fit to be consort to a king. And king she will be, though she knows it not."

Illyria turned away from them and stared toward the glow on the horizon.

"Courage, Warriors. It is the least of what will be asked of you."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Illyria**_

_It had been long since she had maneuvered thus, but one did not forget._

_Memory simply became unclear, and needed reminding. She had once raised kings, and kingdoms to her consequence. This would be no different. This time, for Wesley, she would remember that things had names._

_The halfling children, these self-styled Slayers, were a conundrum. They were a powerful weapon and she suspected it amused Eligor to see these willing sacrifices, these children of opportunity, aligned against his vampiric children of intent. _

_Daughters of Chaos, though they seemed to know it not._

_The balance had been broken by the creation of the multitude of slayers, and not by the will of the Unseen. Illyria knew this - in as much as one born of the Primordium could understand that which could not be known completely. Much effort would be expended across the layers to make certain the pattern stayed on its path to the intended outcome._

_A pattern Illyria intended to reshape to her own design._

_Her tools were few, and the obstacles many. The apes were easily manipulated, but their corrupt morality made their cooperation untrustworthy. They did not understand their own desires, and did not wish to acknowledge their flaws. They were blind to the battle raging around them, and their understanding of the Unseen was simplistic at best._

_It was her pet who would suffer._

_Of all of them, Spike would suffer most._

_Fair recompense for placing his loyalty at the feet of another. That he made no secret of that loyalty was all that kept his flesh upon his bones. Had he veiled his heart in deception, she would have torn it from his chest and fed it to him before he died. It burned however, that which he withheld from her, and gods did not forgive the burning. Illyria would return that pain ten-fold._

_And she who held his heart would share his agony._

_Illyria remembered the Fallen. In her youth, she had warred against their armies. In her time, the Seraphim begat and became undying among the layers of the Unseen. The taking of physical form had been a consequence of Unseen design; higher beings exiled to the lower planes. If her pet spoke true, she who was named Buffy was something other. One of the Ensoulled raised to the plane of Paradise; returned to the Primordium with mind and memory intact._

_Eligor's get, most truly._

_She would bring the final piece within Illyria's grasp. The Key who held a measure of her pet's affection. It was essential to the shape of things. As for the Fallen named Buffy ... it was yet unknown how her experience of the Unseen had shaped her. She who had been shaped, might resist being shaped further._

_And that, above all things, would not be tolerated._


	11. Chapter 11

The street was quiet, when the demon stepped into Buffy's path.

Instantly, the convoy behind her braked to a halt and the men walking beside it raised their weapons, twisting to place their backs to the trucks. Snipers keeping pace on the rooftops radioed their reports, and Buffy could feel the slayers on the outside edges of the group pause watchfully.

The demon lowered its head, but otherwise didn't move.

It was big and well-armored. A half-breed of some sort. Most of them were, inside the Wall. Although in some cases, the cross with humanity was so far back, the human part was questionable. Definitely not Homo Sapiens Sapiens. It shouldn't matter, it being part human. Except, for some reason, it did. She wasn't even certain why it bothered her. All it meant was that someone, somewhere, had sold their soul for power and had become something other than human.

Except...

A Slayer was something other than human.

Her power was rooted in the demonic. Likely the same power that possessed a vampire. Yet Buffy didn't consider herself to be evil. Capable of evil, yes. But not intrinsically evil herself. Of course, she had a soul, so that made all the difference.

Didn't it?

"Slayer,"the demon said, the syllables awkward in its mouth.

She eyed him warily.

"Have something you want," the demon said. Or at least, that's what she thought he said. Then he turned away and walked into the nearest building.

Buffy blinked, startled.

"That's it? Just...we have something you want?" Buffy looked after the demon incredulously. "You know the last guy who said something similar didn't fair too well,"she said, raising her voice pointedly, remembering Caleb and his taunts about the Slayer Scythe.

When the demon didn't react, she grimaced and followed cautiously. The radios behind her squawked, and she heard a tinny version of Colonel Bast's voice. She could guess the content even before a team separated from the truck to follow her.

Three slayers slid into position behind her, and the soldiers had learned enough to keep a good bit a distance between them. If it went down, the slayers needed to be able to move. In close quarters, nervous soldiers with guns just tended to get in the way. Not that Buffy had phrased is so bluntly.

Okay, maybe she had.

Once or twice.

The situation in the core wasn't what anyone had intended. Not the military. Not the politicians who'd given the green light to the assault. There had been far more demons in the downtown core than anyone had realized. And far more humans. Once the smoke had cleared, killing everything had gotten complicated. For one, not enough bullets. Not to mention, half the demons ran away when they saw Buffy coming.

Disconcerting, that.

They had lost seven slayers and fifty-nine soldiers the night of the attack. While most of the attack force had survived, their numbers had never been meant to act as an occupying army. Supplies and reinforcements were ready and waiting with the aircraft carriers, but the demons had regrouped. Fast. There were still things living in the harbor and patrolling the coastal waters.

Big, grumpy, _hungry_ things.

Satellite photos also showed a growing number of demons in the areas outside the Wall - sandwiched between the Wall and the dead-zone surrounding Los Angeles. That zone was three miles deep, with minefields and barbed wire fencing backed by tanks, gun batteries, and various other things that went boom. Theoretically, any humans that made it to the zone would be escorted through. In reality, after the first week, very few human refugees made it that far.

Hungry demons were rather indiscriminate.

Something to consider, given that she was probably walking into a trap. This demon was big. As in, _really_ big. And while Buffy was a great fan of the saying "the bigger they are..." and all that, she wasn't kidding herself. If this guy had Buffy bits on his mind, she was going to have a tough time keeping all her bits in the bowl. He had armor plating in all the right places. Or wrong, from her point of view. Razor-sharp claws...and, oh look. Stabby, spiny, pointy things on his forearms. Fun. A real demon's demon.

And he had friends.

She felt the dark energy of her slayers thin and spread out a bit as they got into the lobby of the building. It was open concept, lots of broken glass and empty spaces. The demon stopped and turned to face her once they were all inside. Which was good. There was no way she was following that war machine into some narrow hallway.

The demon held up a clawed hand and four more demons emerged from a ruined office, each holding the corner of a large cage made of rags and sticks. She heard one of the soldiers hiss angrily when the dim light revealed several small children huddled inside. Human children.

"Nobody move," she said softly, eyes on the demon-in-charge.

Slave children.

Their clothes were rough-spun and looked exactly like the clothes worn by the human slaves accompanying the supply trains emerging from the Hellmouth. Buffy moved closer to the cage and the children turned to look at her warily. The shackles on their wrists and ankles were old, and the scar tissue beneath suggested that these children had been slaves for years. Maybe from birth.

Buffy studied the demons holding the cage and noted recent wounds and something that probably passed for bruises.

"Ma'am?" the soldier's voice was strained.

"Don't do anything stupid,"she said flatly.

"Those are children,"another soldier protested.

Buffy tilted her head thoughtfully, and looked again at the signs of recent battle on some very scary looking demons.

"Yes they are,"she agreed, curious now. "And I think we are about to be offered a trade."

The demon-in-charge gave her a steady look. Then his lip curled once in a short cut-off growl.

Buffy walked back to him, stopping just outside the reach of her sword. "''Okay. Cards on the table. I'm listening."

The demon studied her for a long moment. Longer than should have been necessary given that he had approached her. The demons holding the cage were rock steady, none of them twitching so much as an ear. When the demon crouched abruptly and extended one wicked claw, Buffy felt the tension at her back ratchet up another three notches.

The demon-leader rapidly scratched several intersecting lines on the floor, his claw easily cutting into the tile. Buffy edged closer as she recognized the rough shape of the castle. A horseshoe shape demarcated the Wall. He even drew a dotted line to mark the edge of the dead-zone. Fairly accurately too. Which was interesting.

"Got some of those flying demons, huh?"she asked politely.

He paused, then wuffed slightly with something that might have been amusement, and continued drawing. Buffy had the sinking feeling she was getting in way over her head. Amused demons didn't usually translate to Buffy-Fun. The demon glanced at her, then sketched a rough box on the map, approximately where they were standing, and drew seven short marks inside it. Buffy glanced at the cage.

Seven children.

The demon hesitated, his red eyes staring unblinking into her own before he slowly drew a second cage deep in an area within the Wall that the soldiers had taken to calling the Wilderness. It was unexplored territory as far as patrols went. Too many broken roads to take the vehicles, and they had other concerns. Namely, getting the castle and immediate surroundings under control. There were only two hundred acres within the Wall, but it was two hundred acres of high-rise condos, office towers, interconnected rooftops, and vast underground tunnel systems.

It was taking time.

The demon's claws gashed deep when he sliced three marks inside the second cage.

"Mine,"the demon said shortly, stabbing his claw into the center of the drawing.

Buffy didn't think obvious was going to cut it. It didn't feel like a trap, but those slave children must have been captured outside the Wall. Captured outside and brought inside as trade goods by demons who had been more than capable of capturing them in the first place. So why would Hannibal Lecter's army need a slayer?

No...not a slayer.

_The_ Slayer.

The demon leader was watching Buffy.

Five years ago, she would have thought it was a threat. Six years ago, she would never have even asked the question. She would have seen the children and started swinging. It would never have occurred to her that demons were capable of anything other than evil.

"O.K." she told the demon. "Let's go get yours."


	12. Chapter 12

"This is stupid."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."

Riley glanced back at the gathered trucks, then kicked at a rock impatiently when it became apparent the rest of his group wasn't ready yet. Riley and an extra squad of soldiers had met the convoy at the edge of the Wilderness, and Buffy hadn't even bothered trying to talk him out of coming along.

"No, I mean this is really really stupid,"he said, glaring at the demon-leader and the band of twelve demons with him.

Buffy wanted to warn him that glaring at demons usually caused them to bite somebody.

Riley seemed to expect her to be all "large-and-in-charge", and getting with the killing of the demons. He didn't seem to get the point that they were outnumbered. The guns - sure, fine. And yeah, Project 314 had scared the demons silly. But that was in Sunnydale. Population 38,000. Here in Hell, that number was a drop in the proverbial bucket. The demons weren't exactly concerned with low profile, either.

"I have to pick my battles, Riley. Carefully."

"This is careful?"

"No,"she said."This is a negotiation."

"For what?"Riley demanded.

Buffy shrugged.

"Oh, well. That's different then."Riley started to turn away in frustration, then whipped back around, running one hand through his hair. He hesitated, as if debating the wisdom of what he wanted to say. Then he said it anyway."They're animals, Buffy. They aren't going to help you find Spike's soul."

Buffy flinched. The unexpected nature of the attack forcing her to think of things she was better off not thinking. Not when she had thirteen battle-bred demons watching her for weakness. "Don't go there, Riley. You know that's not why I'm doing this."

"Do I?"Riley grimaced. "Buffy, these are demons. The bad guys? You used to know that."

Buffy looked at him incredulously. "Are we occupying the same city? Or maybe going back to secret ops meant things went back to black and white. You all about taking orders again, Riley?"

"Oh, I finally get the whole shades of grey thing..."

"No,"she said flatly."You really don't. Not if you don't understand that humanity might not be the last man standing once this is over."

Riley stared at her as if he couldn't believe she had just said that.

She scowled."This is the Apocalypse, Riley. Capital 'A'. The final war between good and evil. "

"All the more reason to know your enemy." Riley threw his hands up. "How are we supposed to win if you keep compromising?"

She didn't have an answer.

"You've beaten prophecy before, Buffy."

Except, the End of Days wasn't prophecy. She could feel it in her soul. This was something else.

Riley took her hands, and looked down into her face. "You can't trust the demons, Buffy. They're evil. If you weren't so focused on saving Spike's soul, you'd remember that."

She felt something cold slither down the inside of her spine.

"Look in the mirror much?"

He blinked warily."What's that supposed to mean?"

She smiled grimly."Chipped any demons lately?"

He flushed, and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Maybe the idea had started as a way to fight demon with demon. That was disturbing enough, using pain and torture to twist a living creature into a weapon. But she figured it would only have taken one bad war for the government to unleash them against human beings.

"Do you know the most evil thing I ever saw?"she asked softly.

He froze, unblinking. She could see that he did. He really did. Some part of him wanted - no, _needed_ - to know what scared the Slayer. Even if most days, he didn't have two clues about what being a Slayer really meant. Giles had left the part about chaining demon essences out of the orientation folder.

"It was a man, lying in an alley, because he loved me."

Spike had tempted her to violence with his very acceptance of it. The only one strong enough to stand up to her and he let her use him. Hurt him. Worse, he thought she should love him for it. She had looked at what she'd done to his face and seen true horror. Her own reflection, looking back at her from his bruises. She'd channeled her pain and her anger into her fists and he'd taken it.

Taken her hatred.

Taken her sin.

Made her weak, when she needed to be strong, by making it okay to be evil.

"Buffy...?"

"He offered himself up as target. Deliberately. Trying to save me."

He called to her vulnerability. He spoke to her uncertainties. He tore her down and ripped her apart and if he had done it as a gift, it had felt like damnation. But he had stood between the people she loved and what had crawled out of her grave. He had taken the blows they wouldn't have survived, and she wasn't sure, even now, why he had done it.

She'd been drowning, and he'd handed her an anvil.

"He knew what would happen when he did it. What sort of rage he would unleash. He did it anyway. For me. "

Riley sighed."I'm sorry. He...sounds like he was a good man."

She startled herself with a brittle half-laugh.

Poor Riley.

She had craved Spike, like a drug. The strength in his hands as he worked her body in ways that would have killed a normal girl. The adventurous passion she had confused with perversion because everything about Spike was perverse. Everyone with a soul agreed. Except Tara, but Tara didn't know. Tara didn't see what was broken inside Buffy.

Buffy had looked at the marks she'd clawed into his body, and thought she was a monster. Not just that she had done it. That she had wanted to do it. And Spike was a monster for wanting her to delight in it.

"Buffy, I get it. I really do. It wasn't demons who killed him, was it?"

She met his sympathetic gaze with a direct one of her own. "It wasn't a demon. And she didn't kill him. Just beat him, until he was half-dead and bleeding."

Riley eyed her silently for a long moment. "You took her out, didn't you? The human who did it."

"Riley, I _**was**_ the one who did it."

He blinked. He started to frown, then looked at her with total confusion.

"I wanted the world to leave me alone, and he was standing in my way. I never would have done it to Dawn or Giles or Willow or even you. Never. But I did it to him. Because he wasn't human. Because I hated that he could make me feel. I hated that I let him touch me. I hated that I was using him, and I hated the fact he let me."

"Spike,"Riley said flatly.

Spike.

"Buffy, he was evil." Riley put his hands firmly on her shoulders and looked down at her ."You were vulnerable and he took advantage of that."

Yes.

He had.

But he hadn't deserved what she had done to him, just because she was too weak to walk away.

She'd clawed and bit and twisted and pinned him down and he'd begged her to hurt him just a little bit more. Something she might have come to terms with, if not for the fact she didn't know where the scratches on his back ended and the bruises on his face began. She couldn't trust he knew either, because he didn't seem to see a difference.

"I hated Spike for a lot of reasons,"she said finally."Some of which he deserved, and some he didn't. But I was the one who crossed the line. Me. The one with the soul."

Riley just looked at her. "People can do evil things, Buffy."

Verbally patting her head like she was a child, bruised over losing her wide-eyed innocence.

"Yes,"she said flatly,"and so can demons."

The single night she had spent with Angel had been perfect. Everything love was supposed to be. He had touched her like she was the most precious thing in creation and she had felt treasured. Adored. Loved.

Angel had been careful and gentle and it had been so sweet it made her cry.

So with Riley, she had been gentle. That was what she knew. Gentle was what she had thought love was supposed to be. Slow. Thorough. Soft like a kitten. She hadn't considered it to be holding back. She'd thought being gentle was giving him the best she had to give. And Riley had thrown her away.

For being gentle.

"Buffy, they don't have souls."

Vampires didn't have souls.

And maybe neither did the rest of them. She just wasn't positive it mattered. Not always. Not anymore. Sure, Clem cheated at kitten-poker. She wouldn't trust him with a credit card or the family pet. But not exactly the harbinger of evil, either, eating Bugles and watching over Dawn. Oh yeah, big bad evil. Taking over the world with his TiVo.

"That isn't good enough, Riley. Not anymore."


	13. Chapter 13

Riley went back to his men, to hurry them along.

Buffy stared out over a wasteland of broken highway and collapsed subway tunnels. The tumbled concrete was overly bright and sharp-edged in the sunlight. White, and washed out, like the harsh light of the desert. The cliff formed by three levels of twisted and fallen interchange divided the inner core from the Wilderness, the furthest reaches of the urban jungle trapped within the Wall.

_There be demons._

Buffy studied the sullen buildings that squatted on the far hillside. Beyond them, skyscrapers formed a grim silhouette against a painfully blue sky. Closer to the Wall, these buildings had taken more damage from the attack. Missiles had clipped top floors and spiraled off-target. Falling concrete had gouged deep holes in the walls and rooflines.

She could feel the demons on the far side of this unofficial boundary, seething beneath the seeming silence. Watching from empty windows. Waiting for the moment the soldiers left the safety of the vehicles behind and entered no-man's land. She didn't think whatever lived there was a match for the very large demons standing quietly behind her, but they were still rough and dangerous...

...and afraid.

Riley and his men seemed almost ridiculous, as they moved about in the sunlight. Tiny. Soundless. Not quite real. She watched as they secured ropes to vehicle hitches and wondered why they looked almost detached from the landscape. As if they were not quite there. As if she could reach out and sweep them away with a touch of her hand.

Then the demon leader moved up beside her and the world came crashing back. Sound and color as all her senses went on alert. The hot dry air of the gully scratched at her face and the back of her throat. She could feel him, almost like she could feel her slayers. Not with a feeling of belonging or kinship, but a steady pulse of something other. Primitive. A feral tang with smoky undertones.

"What do you want from me?"she asked quietly.

The demon didn't answer, but she felt his interest sharpen. It occurred to her to wonder how she appeared to demon senses. Her skin was humming, reading his every shift and twitch in the caress of air against her body. Air, or perhaps power. She had been getting stronger every year, as though every bruise, every injury taught her body something she hadn't known before.

_The Slayer forges strength from pain._

Looking back, her Spirit Guide had been surprisingly literal.

Coming back from the dead had accelerated the process. That, or she had simply become more aware of herself. Power thrummed in her veins, coating her cells, and rebuilding fractures even as they happened. Her bones were growing denser. She could feel the mystical energy reinforcing them. Lines of power that grew thicker with every bruise. Every break.

She wondered if the same thing happened to vampires, as they got older.

If perhaps, that partially explained Spike.

William had been a...well, face it. He'd been Andrew. Bookish and everybody's victim. Becoming a vampire must have been the ultimate high. Before he could begin to come down, he'd met Angelus. A dangerous, older vampire who took pleasure in breaking other people. But if she knew anything about Spike, it was that he didn't break. He didn't give up, and he didn't knuckle under. He regrouped. If he'd somehow sensed that fighting all out against the odds made him stronger...

Spike said it himself.

He followed his blood.

Riley looked over and signaled that they were ready to move out. A team of two slayers backed by six soldiers were detailed to stay and protect the trucks. They couldn't afford to lose the vehicles in general, and they might need them if it became a running retreat.

The demons stayed near Buffy as they descended into the canyon. It was unnaturally quiet as they picked their way across the broken pavement and Buffy glanced suspiciously at her demon escort as they made it to the other side without incident. Riley and the sharpshooters took point as they moved into the streets of the Wilderness proper. The air was heavy with expectation and several soldiers whirled sharply every time a rock fell, or pinged off a building.

Riley was frowning at the GPS unit in his hand as one of Buffy's escort led them into broken streets and alleys. Twice, they had to divert around a collapsed office tower blocking the route they wanted. Fractured walls groaned alarmingly as they passed and even the demons were watching warily as bricks and glass fell sporadically to shatter explosively on the sidewalks.

She figured they were almost at their destination when she started seeing eyes peering out at them from empty windows. Her demons snorted and lowered their heads at some of the more inquisitive, but no one made any threatening gestures. Buffy counted at least forty species before she gave up. Riley's Marines were twitchy, but no one pulled the trigger.

She became aware of a sense of anticipation building in the demons around her. Hers, and those in the shadows. The street ended at a public park and she was almost amused at the formal appearance their group took on as they entered the gates. Her escort tightened up around her, and the Marines pulled back, all of them covering the rear excepting Riley and two sharpshooters. Demons of all species lined the walkways and they rumbled, and twittered, and screeched among themselves as the group passed.

The walkway ended at a large empty square and a delicate gazebo. Buffy narrowed her eyes as she felt her demons go on high alert and she followed the demon-leader's gaze and located three small demon children chained to a bench inside the gazebo. A broken growl was choked off by the demon-leader and without thinking, Buffy touched his arm gently.

The demon stared at her, astonished.

"We'll get them back,"she promised quietly.

There was an odd shift of motion through the watching crowd. Demonic energy surged and the crowd fell back as a second procession of demons marched into the square. Buffy sighed as she counted exactly thirteen demons of the same breed as those who had brought her here.

Riley shot her an 'I told you so' grimace, but left his weapon pointing at the ground.

The leader of the opposing demon escort came to a halt and stared at Buffy's lead demon with an angry expression on his face. He shifted his attention to Buffy and, for a moment, she thought he was going to attack her. He got himself under control and turned sideways to bow towards the demon stepping out from behind his escort.

"So..."the demon said, its human features shifting until they settled into something inhumanly beautiful."This is the Halfling who fancies herself a demon-lord."


	14. Chapter 14

"Your scent is of the line of Eligor, pretty Halfling,"the demon-lord purred. "Are you one of his cursed children?"

Buffy shrugged.

The shadow-men had never said the demon's name.

The demon-lord raised his head, further drawing in her scent. Then his lip curled. "One of the Fallen,"he said with distaste. "You were called Bodhisattva when I last walked this world. What do they call you in this day?"

She eyed the way his demon escort was spreading out, pushing back the crowd around the square.

"Mostly just Buffy,"she said.

The demon-lord cocked his head, his features rippling. Buffy had the sense of power settling into new patterns, but when he stopped shifting, he had the same eerily beautiful human features from before. Perhaps a bit sharper, more angular along the jaw and cheekbone. His hair darkened and his eyes were a brilliant blue against skin the color and texture of white marble.

Pretty.

Seductive energy pulsed in the air between them and she could almost see the threads of it trying to wrap around her. But unlike with vampires, this energy didn't call to her. The cold perfection of it repulsed her. Angel and Spike had blazed with the heat of their passions. So hot, they had burned her with their passing.

The demon-lord watched her for a few moments more, then smiled wryly.

"You intrigue me, Halfling."

His robes fluttered oddly, melting into a blue-black armor that glittered with a repellant insect-like slickness. Her demons spread out behind her, mirroring the positions of his escort. The demon-lord watched her demons with a peculiar smile on his face.

Oh yeah.

No history there.

"Your Ruarik brought you here to die, pretty Halfling. " The demon-lord pulled a sword from mid-air and lowered it to rest the point between his feet. He crossed his hands across the pommel and tilted his head. "But those who followed you should not pay for your foolishness. They may go."

The demon-lord turned his head and stared intently at Riley.

Neither moved.

Blue eyes shifted to green momentarily, then back to blue. "This is not a battle you can win."

Riley narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you trying so hard to make us leave?"

The demon-lord's eyes flared red, then cycled back to blue as he glanced at the demon escort at her back. His mouth twisted.

"Commendable,"he said flatly.

Metal whined, slicing the air, and ending with a meaty thunk. Buffy looked at the five-point star embedded in the palm of one of her escort. A palm that was held outstretched, three inches from Riley's face. Ichor oozed down the demon's hand and Riley stared white-faced at the weapon that would have split his forehead in half. The demon yanked the metal from his flesh, letting it fall to the pavement.

The demon-lord hissed, an expression of angry disbelief. He whirled toward the leader of Buffy's demons.

"You dare!"he raged.

He took one step toward the demon, only to halt when a low grumble swept through the crowd. He jerked to a halt, his eyes glowing bitter amber for several seconds. Then he smiled, a twisted angry smile that boded badly for Buffy. 'Cause it was never good when the bad guys smiled like that.

His eyes shifted back to blue and his hair went flame red.

"Do you know what I do to those who challenge me, Halfling?"he snarled, glaring at Buffy."You will wish you had only defied me."

She sighed and glanced at the leader of her escort."I'm assuming this is your fault?"

He grunted.

She grimaced."Giles keeps telling me not to sign anything until I've read the fine print."

Red hair shifted swiftly through black, green, and orange as the demon-lord grinned mirthlessly. "I accept your Challenge. I will take pleasure in listening to you scream."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at Ruarik, pointing between herself and the demon-lord. "I assume this is why you..."

Ruarik grunted.

She sighed."Right. I knew that. Just checking."

She also knew Ruarik wasn't a happy demon. The leaders of both escorts had gotten increasingly tense as the demon-lord spoke. Now, as he stalked into the empty square, sword held low and away from his body, Buffy saw something similar and indefinable appear in two sets of escort-leader eyes. Then her body jolted unpleasantly as the demon-lord's eyes shifted to an intense blue the exact color of Spike's when he...

The demon-lord smiled maliciously.

She stepped into the square.

She heard Ruarik hiss something behind her and his counterpart's eyes widened slightly. She didn't know what their deal was, and frankly, she didn't care. Demon-boy had already tried to intimidate her and send Riley and his men running. She didn't know what would have happened had any of them backed down, but suspected copious amounts of unpleasantness. She was also beginning to really regret the absence of her scythe.

Ruarik snarled as she reached for the sword strapped to her back and everybody froze. She turned her head and blinked in confusion when she found him dropping slowly to one knee.

"No!"

The harsh exclamation was nearly incomprehensible in the demon-lord's rage. His eyes blazed a searing orange and his face rippled, humanity slipping for just a moment. The smell of ozone seared the air, and Ruarik raised his head to stare right at the demon-lord as he pulled the sword strapped to his back and laid it carefully across his palms. Ruarik raised his hands and offered the weapon to Buffy.

A choked scream emerged from demon-lord and he almost lurched forward, raising his sword as Buffy hesitated.

Silence descended on the watching crowd and Buffy saw pure shock on the faces of the onlookers. Then Ruarik glared at Buffy and she caught her breath in recognition. She had only ever seen that combination of predatory watchfulness and compliance once before. The night she had held a stake to Drusilla's chest and Spike backed down.

She'd had the same sense of teetering on a cliff then too.

Looking back, that had been the pivot able moment in her relationship with Spike. The one where everything changed, and nothing was as it was before. She had that same sense of danger, now. The feeling that she was balancing on the dagger's edge. Then again, that was exactly where Spike expected a Slayer to be. She felt herself grinning, a wild reckless ferocity rising from deep inside.

"Shall we dance?" she asked Ruarik brightly.

The demon blinked, rage giving way to startled astonishment. Her left hand undid the straps tying her sword to her back, and one of the demons in her escort caught it as it fell away. Her grin widened and her palm settled against the pommel of the sword she was being offered. Her fingers curled slowly around the grip. There was no sense of power or ownership, but she had the same feeling of destiny turning on its axis.

And it had nothing to do with the demon-lord behind her.

She ripped the sword from its scabbard in a smooth move that flowed naturally into a backwards leap into the air. Time suspended itself, and power hummed along her skin as she twisted in mid-air, bringing the sword downwards in a crosswise motion. One that would have sliced the demon-lord in half had he stayed to meet it.

She landed like a cat, with the sword in an extreme low-guard position.

"You should have stayed with the counted, Bodhisattva,"the demon-lord snarled. "I am going to make you pay for your insolence."

His sword rang against hers and the blast of power he shoved through the metal exploded, sending her body cartwheeling thirty feet through the air. She slammed onto the pavement, her flesh and bones absorbing the impact with an ease that would have been impossible before she died. Before Willow hit her with a bolt of magic her bones still remembered. Before a Turok-han had shown her what a Slayer could take.

Her borrowed sword was a dead thing in her hand as she crawled to her feet. Lifeless and inert compared to that carried by the demon-lord. He leapt toward her, sword swinging, bleeding power along the metal's edge. She rolled out of its path, feeling the hum of energy as it whistled past. The demon-lord laughed, toying with her. Opening her skin with precision cuts. Not enough to kill her, but enough to show his contempt. Enough to weaken her, if she let it.

Slayer power sealed the cuts before they had time to bleed much.

She'd learned that trick in the Hellmouth, after being stabbed with a sword.

There had been so much power there, and she had been its focus. Willow and Giles had assumed it would channel through the scythe, but it hadn't. It had channeled through her. And when she had pushed herself to her feet, defying the First to kill her, she had taken the others with her. Linked to her, she had carried them on the tide of her own determination, and they had fallen on their enemies like wolves.

Watching the demon-lord as he manipulated his power, she tried to push her own energy into her sword and she failed. She could feel the power, coiled and ready. But the edges of her body were well defined, and the sword didn't belong to her. Not like her scythe, and not like her sisters. The demon-lord grinned maliciously as she scrambled to get out of his way as he swung again, and she saw him assume his victory.

She would take pleasure is shoving that assumption through his chest, and dance on his grave.

Some part of her knew she should be intimidated. Some part of her knew the demon-lord in front of her was millennia old, if not more. But another part of her whispered what part of her could never forget. Buffy Summers had been dead. Dead and buried, her soul gone to Heaven. She had existed in a dimension of no time. Forever and always and never and never was.

For a moment, she almost heard a man's laugh, chuckling with delight.

"You can't defeat me, little Halfling,"the demon taunted. "Accept it, and I may take mercy on your friends."

The Slayer knew every inch of her own body. Every hair, every muscle, from her toes to the furthest extension of her fingertips. It was this body the power defined. This flesh her will held together, and the power recreated. But her soul remembered being other. More than meat and bone. And less. And power went where she willed.

Buffy smiled.

Something that seemed to disconcert the demon-lord for a moment.

Extending her senses, the way she hunted for vampires, she could feel his power - and something else. It was the same thing that coated the edge of his sword. The same flavor, not of power, but of essence. Something she hadn't realized until this moment that she could taste. She backed away from his reach, circling to keep him away from her. Then she let all sense of boundary in her sword hand slip free.

She half expected to look down and see her flesh disappear.

Instead, she could feel the structure of the sword as she touched it with her power. Learned its structure. Made it part of herself until it was no longer a sword, but a part of her flesh. An extension of her being, body and soul. Slayer energy darkened the edge as her sense of herself crept downward, towards the tip and back up again. Power wove into the structure, humming in the same frequency she felt along her bones.

When the demon-lord swung for her again, Slayer power slammed into his, flinging them both off their feet.

She flipped in mid-air, having expected the explosion. The demon-lord wasn't so lucky. He flew backwards, off-balance just long enough for Buffy to reached for her sisters, and draw their power into her own. It came willingly, and when her foot touched the ground, it propelled her forward in a lithe rush that brought her sword up just as the demon lord landed and spun around. His body slid to the ground, while his head rolled across the square, and bloodied the pavement.

Blond hair and blue eyes stared up at her for a moment...

...then faded into something not even close to being human.


	15. Chapter 15

_Outside the castle, a dragon roared._

_"The world is burning."_

_Buffy looked out the window of her bedroom, then looked at her hand, unsurprised to find herself holding a satellite phone. A clunky green thing that looked nothing like the phones she had seen Graham use. It was painted in camouflage colors, with little sparkles embedded in the paint._

_She lifted it to her ear._

_"Giles?"_

_"The world is burning, Buffy. It is time to be counted."_

_She found herself in the courtyard, with no memory of how she got there. The stone pavement was cold beneath her feet and she looked down to find herself wearing a filmy white nightgown that rippled and flowed in the non-existent night air. _

_"Oh, you have got to be kidding,"she heard herself say. _

_And wondered why she sounded like Spike._

_She climbed the stairs of the north wall, the hem of her nightgown sliding over stone. An inner prompting told her she would get better reception on the phone if she climbed. The sky was dark, and slayers moved toward various gates, heading out to patrol. She peered northwards._

_Looking for the dragon._

_"Giles...the United States military frowns on space-based scolding."_

_Before he could reply, she was knocked off her feet. Tumbling over the edge of the wall, she felt a whoosh and cold night air against her body as she fell. Then hot rough skin slid between her legs and she found herself astride the dragon. She clenched her thighs in reflex, and the dragon roared, spinning in the air like a corkscrew._

_All around, she heard screaming._

_The wings straightened with a bone-jarring snap, and the dragon leveled out. She looked down, and in the moonlight, her city flashed beneath her. Then the Wall. Then it was behind her. _

_And they were spiraling out of the sky and into battle. _

_Slayers fought with demons while a demon-lord fifty feet tall strode through the battlefield toward a warring pair of vampires. A blue-haired demon dressed in dried blood watched it all from the sideline. _

_"Y'sa," the dragon hissed abruptly._

_Buffy studied the demon-lord, somehow not startled that dragons could talk. _

_Y'sa shouted in triumph, and as one of the vampires dusted, the other fell to his knees. The vampire tilted his head back and screamed in agony as magical energy crackled around him. The demon-lord hissed and held a glowing orb aloft in his hand._

_"I have no desire for your life, vampire," Y'sa said with satisfaction."I want your soul."_

_This time, Buffy screamed, and the dragon screamed with her. Anger, and rage, and pain. And Buffy swung the sword that was suddenly in her left hand as the dragon dove from the sky. Heading for the vampire writhing on the ground. Heading for Spike. _

Buffy woke, a battle-cry on her lips and echoed in the trip-hammer racing of her heart.


	16. Chapter 16

"...it certainly sounds like a Slayer dream, Buffy, but I'm not sure we can assume this Y'sa has any information about Spike's soul. Spike died in Sunnydale. As far as I can determine, Y'sa came through the L.A. Hellmouth after it opened."

"But he could have summoned it, right? Like Willow did when she cured Angel?" she asked anxiously.

"Well, I suppose it's possible,"Giles conceded. "Rituals do exist. I just don't see the point."

Buffy tightened her grip on the satellite phone. A sophisticated high-tech contraption that was nothing like the cartoonish phone in her dream. " Why else would I dream it then?"

"Well it has been on your mind lately,"Giles said pointedly. With extreme British understatement, given how she'd been hounding him for any information on tracing and recovering lost souls. "Or...I suppose it could be bait."

"Save the soul, harpoon a Slayer?"

There was a decided pause."You haven't exactly been subtle in your enquiries. Anyone looking for an advantage knows that you are vulnerable in this area."

Buffy thought about that for a moment." Why didn't Y'sa go after Angel?"

There was a strange silence from Giles. And not the sort she could usually translate.

"Angel was a Champion," he said finally. "Perhaps his soul is protected in a way that Spike's is not."

"Spike was a Champion, too," she said flatly.

Knowing even as she said it, that it was a knee-jerk reaction, and Giles wasn't wrong. She was just so tired of the constant implications that Spike's sacrifice didn't mean as much. As if he'd been expendable because he was just Spike.

" Buffy, you know it isn't the same thing. Angel had a place in a larger design. He was chosen by the Powers That Be to be their Champion. Spike was just..." Giles trailed off.

"Mine," she said implacably, almost daring him to refute it.

"Yes, I'm afraid so,"Giles said, not hesitating the way she expected him to. "Whatever he may have done, he certainly did it for you. As admirable as that might have been under the circumstances, I suspect it makes a difference to the Powers."

"It shouldn't."

But it probably did.

Spike had fought the good fight. Whatever his motivations, he'd faced evil and fought back. But Giles was right. On a cosmic level, she suspected nobody cared very much about him at all. He'd never been their Champion. He had been hers.

And she didn't have the power to protect him.

"Several patrols have reported seeing a dragon north of here," she said shortly.

Giles was clearly not ready to shift topics. "And have you seen this dragon?" he finally asked, reluctantly.

Buffy grimaced. "No. But we lost one when Glory opened the portal."

She heard him sigh.

"It does seem likely, this could be it. But even if it's true, can you do anything with the information?"

"Don't be reasonable, Giles. I didn't call you to be reasonable."

Giles snorted."I should think it a pleasant change." There was a tense silence, then exasperation as he burst out," A demon-lord, Buffy? What on earth could have possessed you to do such a thing?"

"It's not like I haven't taken on a demon or two before," she said defensively.

Buffy flushed at the disapproving silence that greeted that remark. She had known even as Ruarik made his offer that it wasn't going to be the typical fight. And truthfully, she hadn't expected a demon-lord either. By the time she'd known what was the what, it was past ten on the caution clock.

"The key word there is demon, Buffy."Giles said, frustration and worry strengthening his accent." This was a demon-lord. I can't begin to imagine the power of that creature. I have every confidence in your abilities as a Slayer, but I truly don't have any idea how you could have defeated such a thing."

Buffy hesitated, then flexed the hand not holding the phone. "Faith has been a Slayer almost as long as I have. Has she...? Is she...?"

There was a longer silence. And the shush of fabric and the faint creak of leather as he leaned slowly back in his chair.

"You're getting stronger,"Giles said evenly.

Buffy nodded curtly, knowing he couldn't see her, but not able to force the words past her suddenly dry throat. She had told Giles about being the focus for all that Slayer power in the Hellmouth. But until the night they attacked L.A., she hadn't realized she could draw on her sisters' power as well as her own. She also knew that no one understood what she'd been trying to say. Not even Willow.

Buffy hadn't sensed them, or linked with them. She had drunk down their power. Like a vampire.

Exactly like a vampire.

"I see."

Her hand clenched so tightly on the phone she heard the plastic begin to protest.

"More than just the accelerated healing you were experiencing before you left for L.A.?"

She let the silence speak for her.

"What else?"

"No tail,"she mumbled.

"What? Oh. Yes. Quite. No horns either I presume?" Giles joked rather desperately. "It's entirely possible this is a completely natural evolution. We have to expect that much like vampires gain strength and abilities as they age, Slayers may also experience similar increases. Your experiences living on the Hellmouth have hardly been typical. It's probable your normal development has been accelerated somewhat."

"Normal? Giles, my normal development put me in the grave. Twice! My coming back was the abnormal. I'm like one of those dogs they've bred to be so not normal that their brains don't fit in their skulls after a few years."

"Buffy, for god's sake."

"There I am, all fine and loyal and protective. Then my brain gets squished and I go all Buffy the Bobbit - only you know - on all your parts."

"Your brain isn't going to get squished."

"It's not like you even know. We die before anybody _really_ knows anything about us. Giles...nobody knows what I could become."

"I know, because I know you."Giles said bluntly."You are good and true and stubborn as hell. If I know anything, Buffy, after all these years, I know with absolute unshakable confidence that you have the strength to grab whatever demon you may have inside you and bludgeon it into good behavior."

There was a pause.

Then Giles began speaking very rapidly while Buffy frowned, puzzled by his abrupt - almost embarrassed - change in tone. He'd only said...

Oh.

"So what about that Ruarik, huh?"she blurted desperately, her face burning.

"Hmmm...? Oh...yes. Well, to begin with, it's not a he...it's a what."

"What?"

"Ruarik is the name of his species,"Giles said,"not the demon himself. Information about the breed is sketchy, though. "

"They're big,"she said helpfully.

"So I understand. According to what few references I could find, they are descended from a branch of demons created to act as elite soldiers for a race of warrior-kings that have long since died out. I suspect your Ruarik was a half-breed, probably serving in much the same capacity for today's demon-lords."

"The demon-lord I killed was wicked pissed when Ruarik - I mean my Ruarik - the leader? When he knelt and offered me his sword."

"And you say this was after the demon-lord had already accepted your challenge? " She could practically hear him absent-mindedly polishing his glasses."I must say, I don't know too much about these things, but from what you described, it sounds like your Ruarik was trying to...that is, he was attempting to..."

"Get demon-boy to do something rude and fatal?"

"Yes. Quite. Honor codes among demons are very rigid and specific, Buffy. I can't stress enough how dangerous having a demon offer any sort of allegiance can become."

"Yeah...about that..."

She heard a low groan and a faint thud from the other side of the line.

"Giles...did you just whack the phone?"she asked suspiciously.

"No, I whacked my head with my desk. Please continue."

"The thing is - Ruarik sort of ...followed me home,"she said quickly.

There was an ominous silence from the phone.

"Which Ruarik?"Giles asked tightly.

"Ummm...all of them? Well my thirteen anyway. The other escort stayed to keep things under control. I think."

She cringed as he started cursing with words she recognized, and then rapidly descended into words she didn't. Some of them sounded vaguely like something Spike might have used, except she wasn't certain they were English.

"Giles? Giles! I don't think that is physically possible, even for a Slayer."

There was a crash as something impacted a wall, then more silence.

"Buffy...you...I...it's beyond comprehension...how...?"

"There was a definite suicidal vibe after I won." she said defensively." I couldn't just let Ruarik go all Seventh Samaurai."

"I fail to see why not."

"It would be wrong,"she said pointedly.

"Buffy... any culture that demands ritual suicide after a failure tends to hold its leaders to even higher standards. This is incredibly..."

"...dangerous? I get that, Giles. I do. Serious to the nth degree of seriousness. But it wasn't really his fault. I don't think fighting demon-boy was actually part of the plan."

"Oh, well...how reassuring. You brought a _failed_ demon-strategist home with you. Good show, Buffy."

"There's no need to get snarky,"she said, annoyance going up a notch."You know, not all of your plans have turned out so stellar Mr. lets-get-a-tattoo-that kills-us!"

"That's not the point,"Giles said repressively.

"Well he hasn't killed me yet, so go me."

"Shall I put that on your headstone?"

Buffy thought about that for a second. "No...if he kills me, they'll probably just eat the body."

"A nice donation then, to the local pet shelter?"

"Sounds good."

She heard Giles sigh.

"If it helps, I don't think I was supposed to fight the demon-lord. I think he was supposed to do something dishonorable enough that Ruarik could kill him. I think he was going to kill himself because I won."

"That had occurred to me,"Giles said. "I'm going to assume since he hasn't gouged his own eyes out yet, the problem has been resolved? Just out of curiosity, do you now control the demon-lord's army?"

Buffy rubbed her forehead and the twitching muscle between her eyes."Well...no. But only because I don't think he had one."

"I swear, I have no idea how you get yourself into these situations, Buffy. For someone who is perfectly content to kill demons, you seem to collect them with distressing regularity."

Buffy snorted."What? The vampires, the witch, and the werewolf, weren't big clues? Plus...you know...a mystical Key and an on-again off-again vengeance demon."

"And apparently Miss Chase was on a path to becoming a higher power,"Giles added reluctantly, still sounding somewhat put out by that development.

"There you go. You and Xander were the only 100% human among us. And what with the fish people, the bug people, and the hyena people - not to mention all the demon girlfriends - Xander might want to take a blood test."

Giles let out a surprised laugh. "I suppose you were doomed to be different from the start."

Buffy smiled, and this time, the silence was comfortable. A bit world-weary, but comfortable. Moments like this, she remembered why she enjoyed not being dead. Remembered that she was not alone. Sometimes it was enough.

"I wish I was there to help, Buffy."

She smiled sadly. "I wish you were here too,"she said softly.

She didn't expect to find a body. Vampires didn't leave much evidence of their passing. But one of these days she was going to find someone who had been there. Someone who had seen Angel fall.

She didn't want to be alone when that happened.

"I'd like to do some more research on this demon-lord you killed. Is there anything else you can remember about him, other than the Ruarik escort?"

"I'd go odds he never spent a dime on hair color."

"Bald?"

"Shifter,"Buffy clarified."Or a really good glamour. But adaptable, like a chameleon. If chameleons did the whole psychological warfare thing."

"Psychological?" Giles asked, clearly perking up with interest.

"He looked like Spike by the time I killed him."

This time there was nothing comfortable about the silence.

"I'm sorry, Buffy,"Giles said quietly.

She swallowed thickly."Yeah, well. It wasn't that good a likeness. I don't think he was reading my mind, just my body language. Oh! Wait. I remember now. He's been here before. Said the last Slayer he met was called Bodhistah or something like that. Do you know her?"

"Bodhistvattma?"Giles asked, startled.

"That sounds right."

"It's not a proper name, Buffy. It's...well I suppose you could call it a title. Are you sure that's what he called you?"

"He said the last time he was here, that was what I was called."

"Well, I don't see how it could be anything to worry about, but it's rather fascinating that he would make such a connection. Did he say anything else? Truthfully, I never really thought about it quite like that, but I suppose..."

His voice trailed off and she heard the sound of books being pulled off shelves.

"Giles...?"

More books moved and a muttered commentary on people who borrowed books without returning them to the right place were the only reply.

"Giles! I'm hanging up on you if you don't say something."

"What? Oh...my apologies. It's just very interesting."

"I'm sure,"she said dryly.

Giles chuckled - a bit tiredly - and she wondered if he'd been that tired since Sunnydale. She'd thought he'd enjoy being in charge, but maybe it was time to rethink what she was asking him to do. When they said their good-byes it was with the ease of habit and Buffy passed along hugs for Dawn and the others. She was startled to realize that while she missed them, all of them, she didn't miss Rome or all that had gone with it.

She thought about that as she stared northward.

She hadn't hated it there. It had offered her a new beginning. It was just...she didn't belong there. She didn't belong in a classroom or boardroom or any of the rooms that had become her life after Sunnydale. Spike had been right about that. She was a creature of the night. She found comfort and safety in the sunlight, but she found her heart racing and her body singing after the sun went down.

Her sister Slayers - they felt it too. To some degree. A fact of some concern, now that she had gotten to know more of them. It was seductive, that darkness. Not all of the slayers were people she trusted with that sort of power. Even Faith was worried. The bloodline might have carried the potential, but perhaps there was a reason the Slayer had been called the Chosen.

Buffy glanced once more toward the north and wondered what it felt like to have wings. To fly through the night, chasing moonbeams and shadows. Maybe...maybe she would take a field trip. Take a handful of slayers and go over the Wall. Not today of course, but later. When things were more under control.

It seemed suddenly important, that there could be dragons in the world.


	17. Chapter 17

_"You see before you a typical vampire..."_

_Buffy's eyes widened as four soldiers dragged a struggling bleach-blond vampire to the front of the lecture hall. The students around her watched with polite interest as the soldiers chained him spread-eagled on the big desk._

_"These are the things they want..."Professor Walsh intoned with all due gravity. _

_Pictures flashed in bright color on the forty-foot high Jumbotron behind the desk. _

_"Comfort..."_

_A shot of her mother in the kitchen, making hot cocoa. _

_"Food..."_

_Bags of expired hospital blood. _

_"Shelter..."_

_A crypt decorated with Persian rugs and candles. _

_"And sex..."_

_Buffy. _

_And more Buffy. Lots and lots of Buffy._

_"They want them, and they want them all the time."_

_Buffy waited, frozen, for someone to turn and recognize her as the star of the naked picture show. Then she raised her hand._

_Professor Walsh acknowledged her. "Ms. Summers?"_

_Buffy flinched at the enthusiastic acrobatics glowing on the screen over the Professor's shoulder. "Ummm...he's not exactly typical..."_

_Professor Walsh ignored the comment and gestured impatiently. "Like all vampires, this specimen has no finer feelings. His wants are solely those of the id. Lacking conscience or remorse, the vampire seeks only to satiate desire. You might call him the prototypical id monster."_

_Riley laid a test paper on Buffy's desk, a big red "F" scrawled across the top. She gaped at it incredulously, then looked up in horror to see Willow and Dawn and Xander and Giles running across the Jumbotron, all screaming soundlessly for help._

_"What about love?"an unknown student asked hesitantly. "Can an id monster love?"_

_Buffy tried to get up, to go to them, but her foot was stuck to the floor and the girl in Willow's seat turned and frowned at her. _

_"You have to pay attention,"the girl said."This is on the exam."_

_Professor Walsh stopped behind the desk and gazed down at the now quiescent vampire with detached interest._

_" Vampires operate on the pleasure principle. They want...they take...they have. They are ungoverned. Uncontrolled. Representative of our most primitive impulses let loose in the world without restriction."_

_Spike turned his head and looked straight at Buffy._

_"So what would happen if we took the pleasure away?"Professor Walsh demanded. Then she smiled and pressed a button._

_Spike started to scream._


	18. Chapter 18

"That's the third one this week."

Spike didn't immediately respond, nor move from his vantage point on the roof. Angel joined him and regarded the weary traveling party in the street below. Slayers were milling about the hand-drawn carts, some talking quietly to the exhausted demons requesting asylum. Others regarded them suspiciously, while a handful were drawn by the chance to hear more information about the woman at the center of the conversation.

The Slayer.

"They saying the same thing?" Spike asked.

"Pretty much," Angel said, then grimaced. "You know what it's like trying to get anything useful from Tashvalar demons."

Spike snorted, appreciating the problem.

"Buffy went and killed herself a demon-lord." Angel's voice was torn between disbelief and incredulity.

Spike rolled his eyes. Peaches feeling less special again, what with the fact he'd only poisoned his. Apparently the Slayer had gone toe to tentacle in formal Challenge.

"What? You think she wouldn't? " Spike peered up at Angel, deliberately, as if over spectacles. It was a habit he had never broken - probably because it had annoyed Angelus so. Her former was a right clueless git if he even considered the Slayer lacked the recklessness for such an action.

Angel frowned."Wouldn't? Please. _How_, is what I want to know."Angel's said, reflecting on his confusion. "And...why would she even get involved? This is Buffy we're talking about."

Buffy being the kind of woman whose idea of interspecies cooperation was generally limited to NOT cutting off one's head.

Spike grunted. "Probably thought she was rescuing puppies or something."

A motivation perfectly in keeping with the Slayer's tendencies toward destruction and self-sacrifice. Daft bint needed a keeper. Someone to watch her back while she was being all heroic and stupid. The boy wouldn't be shooting crossbows these days, and the soldier-boys wouldn't be able to keep up with her.

Angel gave him an odd look, then shook his head and looked at the three packs worth of cigarette butts that had collected around the roof ledge in the last two days. Spike pulled his last cigarette from behind his ear but gave it up as a bad job when he couldn't fidget his lighter out of his jeans.

"Ruarik demons!" he finally burst out, throwing the unlit smoke on the roof. After a moment's thought he ground it viciously under his heel for good measure. "What the bloody hell was that woman thinking?"

Angel didn't even bother to roll his eyes at the question.

"She's going to drive me crazy,"Spike stated petulantly. "Absolutely bug-shagging, howling at the moon crazy. Again! I mean, how many times do I have to lose my mind over this woman before she stops doing this to me?"

"Us."

"Right. Us." Spike said insincerely. "S'what I meant."

Spike found his lighter and was patting his jacket down before remembering his last pack was empty. He growled and gave the squashed cigarette on the roof an exploratory nudge with the toe of his boot. Unfortunately, it was well and truly mangled. He shoved the lighter back in his pocket.

"I need to kill something,"he said flatly.

He peered over the edge of the roof , knowing even as he did it that the Tashvalar were too tired to give him an excuse. Besides, they were a disgustingly spineless lot. Figuratively speaking. They'd run away before he'd even get his fists bloody.

"Don't even think about it,"Angel said warningly."They came here to avoid ... you."

Spike snarled.

"Krevas - that's the leader - says it's primed to become a war-zone in there."Angel paused, then shrugged as Spike gave him a sardonic look."More of one anyway. No telling what the Ruarik are thinking and Krevas didn't want to take any chances."

"Meaning?"

Angel shrugged. "Meaning half of them think she's going to sweep through with her Slayers and slaughter them all. The others are just trying to figure out how to keep her happy."

Spike looked at him incredulously. "Good luck on that one, mate."

Then he scowled. Bunch of ungrateful cowards. Not like the Slayer was going to be any worse than the demon-lord she had killed. Savis had been a sadistic son-of-a-bitch according to rumor. Honorable though, by demon code. Enough to hold a cohort of Ruarik.

And therein lay the problem.

No one with half a brain wanted anything to do with the crazy bastards. Good in a fight - yeah, sure. Armored. Fearless. Intelligent. Which was more than could be said about half the brawlers out there. Absolutely relentless. Ruarik had one purpose in life - to do whatever their lord and master wanted. Was bred into them, millennia ago. A fact which must piss them off to no end, given how often they killed those self-same lords and masters. It was said the only demon-lord more foolish than one who went against Ruarik, was the lord who held Ruarik in the first place. So of course, Buffy must have a brace of the things.

Bloody-minded bint did know how to accessorize.

Details were sketchy - and none of the demon refugees had actually seen the fight - but most agreed that the cohort that had approached the Slayer had not been under oath to Savis. As far as anyone knew, they hadn't been under oath at all. Related by blood though, to the cohort that _had _been oathed to the former demon-lord. Likely a factor in why Savis was now former.

However it went, Spike found it hard to believe two cohorts of Ruarik had knelt to a human Slayer as a life choice. There had to be other considerations. Plans. Schemes. Things that were going to get his Slayer killed if she wasn't careful.

"You think she has _any_ idea what she's gotten herself into?" Spike demanded.

"Does she ever?"

Spike started to shrug, then frowned."Yeah, actually. She does." He took in the skeptical look. "She's not the child you left, Angel."

He remembered how she had looked that last year, with the strain of her responsibilities weighing her down. People who didn't know what it meant to follow, demanding that she lead. Buffy pushing herself into a role she had never been trained to do. Not making a bad job of it either, until Watcher-Boy betrayed her. Good old Rupert had issues he did, when he wasn't Watcher.

Didn't know where he fit, when he wasn't hers.

Rather ironic though, soulful Spike being the wedge between the Slayer and her friends.

He'd done it before, of course. On purpose. Back when he was evil, and once again before the soul. Before a lot of things. He'd done it for Adam because...well, because he had been _angry. _It wasn't right, twitching her ass at him like that. Confusing him. Laughing. Like Cecily and the others. Like Angelus. He'd intended to show her. He'd show her how not neutered he could be. She'd see what he could be...

It had never once occurred to him she might be too dead to appreciate the point.

And she had made it so _easy_. Her family falling apart. Rotting from the inside out, and all of them blind to it. Bitch had her little pink underbelly exposed and waving in his face like a three-course meal come for the dying.

In his own defense, he had thought he hated her.

The second time, was for himself. Because it was the only way she'd let him have her. It wasn't like he actually thought she'd give her friends up entirely. He'd just wanted to show her...well, truthfully he'd just wanted to see what it was like. Taste what had tied Angelus up in all those knots - and not coincidentally, yank the hook from his own mouth. Figured he'd get her out of his system, once he had his balls back.

Then she'd burned him clean through.

And he'd discovered just how far a demon could fall.

Guess third time really was the charm - and neither demon nor soul had even tried. He'd finally got what he'd wanted. Buffy alone. Buffy vulnerable. All to himself and him the black knight, riding to the rescue. But for all he was a selfish bastard, it wasn't worth it. Not for what it had cost her.

She'd known going in, what it would cost all of them. Not so, the others. The Watcher, the Witch, and the Whelp. What they knew, what they'd seen, wasn't close to what had been coming. War was something none of them knew, and buggar them for children playing at soldiers. She'd only done what they demanded. And they burnt her on the cross of their disappointment when the butcher's bill came due.

Pain was a fact of life for a Slayer.

Her friends hadn't liked learning that theirs was nothing special.

People were going to get hurt. People were going to die. There wasn't always going to be time to be soft. To be friends. She was going to bury those that fell and she was going to push forward. That was what it took to get the job done. That's what it took to win a war. Blood, sweat, and battered crosses leaning drunkenly over the bodies of the dead.

"She's not at all who you remember,"Spike said softly."Not by a long shot."


	19. Chapter 19

_"What is your reflection?" Tara asked quietly, eyes on the empty desert horizon._

_"I've been here before,"Buffy told her._

_"You have always been here,"Tara corrected._

_The sky flashed, a momentary wash of bright silver. For a second, a cougar sat where Tara had stood, regarding the Slayer impassively. Then Tara was back, her hair and long skirt flowing in a non-existent breeze._

_"Do you have a reflection?" Tara asked gently._

_"I think I do,"Buffy responded._

_"How do you know?"_

_Buffy frowned."Because I see and people see me."_

_"Is it you?"_

_"It's a reflection,"Buffy said. "It means nothing."_

_Tara shook her head. "It means everything."_

_Another flash, and Spike stood before her. Buffy stretched out her hand, bumping her fingertips against warm glass. She laid her hand flat and watched as he brought his hand forward to mirror her own. Feelings welled up inside her. All the things he had meant to her. All the base comforts she had desired._

_"Glass does not reflect what we do not wish to see," Tara said. "That which we fear most."_

_Buffy didn't take her hand from his reflection. "He was more than that."_

_"Emptiness,"Tara said accusingly._

_"No."_

_"Greed and selfish desire."_

_"No,"Buffy said flatly."He was more than that."_

_"He has no soul,"Tara said, her voice icy with judgment. "He can't be trusted."_

_The glass rippled and the demon stood where Spike had been. Fangs and anger, reflected in yellow eyes. The lumps and ridges of the demon inside. Inside her. The id monster. Tara appeared in the mirror behind him and looked at Buffy solemnly._

_"Do you see?"_


	20. Chapter 20

"Are you leaving us behind?"

Spike jerked around, unaware he'd been pacing back and forth at one end of the gymnasium. He hadn't expected to get that caught up in his thoughts. Not exactly something a vampire surrounded by natural enemies should do. Truthfully, his normally keen senses were a bit numb, surrounded by so many slayers. Everything was drenched in their scent and there was something indefinably different between the potential slayers he remembered, and these active ones. As subtle and as disturbing as the difference between the scent of a girl, and the scent of a woman.

Something elemental.

Something more.

Even after all these months, hunting with them, bringing them here and keeping their families safe, he wasn't used to it. He spent the day partially aroused and slightly drunk on that something. It was more than the scent of their blood. The richness of which should have smelled like food, but didn't. It made him happy, and want to roll around in it like a puppy.

Or a kitten.

No more bad dog for Spike. So...kitten. A soft, fluffy...

A cat, then.

A large, leather-clad _jungle_ cat.

With bad teeth.

Rachel straightened from her crouch against the wall and glanced at Catalina who was leaning next to her, arms crossed as she glared at the floor.

"You wish to go to her,"Rachel said flatly."Are you leaving us behind?"

For a wild moment, he contemplated making a break for it. Taking just these two cracked slayers and heading for the Big Wall. The three of them could be there in a single night, even with being cautious. And he didn't fancy the odds for any demons that got his slayers angry.

'Course, that didn't exactly make them low-profile travel companions.

More bloodthirsty than Dru, the daft birds. And who was it appointed Spike the resident caretaker anyway? He might have some sympathy for simples of the feminine variety, but this was just plain ridiculous. He was a vampire, not a bleeding wet-nurse.

He was about to tell them...well, he didn't know what he intended to tell them. Catarina raised her head and looked at him. Just looked at him. And it hurt, what he saw in her eyes. The same terror that had been in the Bit's eyes, back when she'd found out she was the Key. The look Buffy never saw, 'cause Niblet started hissing and spitting whenever the Slayer cast a look her way.

It was the look he'd have worn, had he a reflection.

It was the sheer blinding mindless terror that the best person he loved in this world, didn't care for him at all. That no matter what, it was never going to be enough, because there was something inside him that was broken or missing. Something that couldn't be fixed, because half the time, there was no map, no warning. No exit ramp. Just one-hundred and ten down the highway of good intentions. But the anger - no mistaking that. Or the disappointment. Or the part of her that would see him dust and not shed a tear.

He slammed his fist into the wall, causing the nearest slayers to jump.

Illyria regarded him expressionlessly from across the room and he closed his eyes as he realized there was no way he could leave her alone with the girls. Blue had always been a bit bent, and the Wanna-Buffy action-figures around him weren't up to Blue's weight. She wasn't as strong or as fast as she used to be, but even he didn't like the odds on him being able to kill Illyria. Maybe on a good day. A really good, four-leaf clover sort of a day.

Which wasn't the way his luck generally ran.

There had never been the same scent of fear on these girls, as had set his nerves on edge around the potential slayers. He didn't know the reason and he didn't care to speculate. It was enough that they didn't make his fangs itch. The uneasiness on them as he stalked toward Blue was almost as bad though. It tasted like betrayal, no matter how much he told himself he didn't owe them anything.

He got to Buffy, and he could come back for them.

Or maybe he'd take the best of them with him. Couldn't hurt to have a few more slayers on hand. Up the odds a bit for Team Buffy. He supposed he couldn't take them all. Angel and Connor would need some of them to keep everybody safe. The worst of the demons in this territory made good eating for the dragon, but there were always new appetizers crossing the border.

Illyria had continued to watch him as he made his way toward her. When he faced her though, he suddenly had the oddest impression she was looking for something. Something that didn't please her, if the way she was standing was any indication. He opened his mouth to ask if she was interested in an afternoon stroll - preferably into Hell.

"Step carefully, vampire," Illyria said flatly. "Be thankful you have provided some amusement."

Spike blinked uncertainly, trying to untangle that statement. "Right. Know what I'm going to ask already do you?" Spike waited a moment. "Is that a yes then?"

There were two territories directly between him and the Big Wall. Three if they went the faster, but less diplomatic route. Spike was all for speed, but if this was going to be a family outing, they weren't likely to pass through those territories unremarked. Carn and Mi'og both maintained a sort of disinterested cooperation with Illyria. Neither was likely to deny them safe passage, if only to keep the unpredictable ex-god from deciding she wanted what they held.

Y'sa was another situation entirely.

Its territory had been chopped in half by Buffy and her military mates. The half of its territory inside the Big Wall was reportedly under slayer control and the surviving demons weren't making any noise about missing their former demon-lord. An insult Y'sa was using to warm the cockles of its three-chambered hearts.

Much as Spike wanted to charge straight for Buffy, he trusted Illyria's sense of the other demon-lords much better than his own. Politics had never been his thing, even when he was alive. Demon-lords were something out of ancient history. He wasn't best pleased to have almost a dozen of them on this plane of existence either, now that the gate was open. As a rule, they had no use for vampires.

Considered them corrupt.

"I would speak with Carn and Mi'og,"Illyria said finally. "See to it."

Spike started to obey, then hesitated. Her easy acquiescence stirred other concerns. He remembered the look on her face when he'd described the Ruarik demons. Asking the question on the tip of his tongue was likely to piss her off, but he also had a vivid memory of Wesley telling them she would always lust after power.

"You're not planning on doing anything regrettable-like, are you?" He asked slowly, as carefully as he knew how." Like challenging the Slayer for her demons?"

Her head tilted. "Your question shows cunning, but not wisdom. Do not ask it again."

She turned, then turned again when he didn't follow. There was something in her body language that was making him twitchy. He mightn't be the fastest study when it came to stuff that bored him, but he liked to think he knew people. Even demons that only looked like people. He met her eyes gravely.

Not challenging, but not giving over either.

Her lip curled finally, with disgust."You are ignorant as well as unwise. " Her expression turned icy cold. With disinterest, he thought. And something he couldn't identify. "Your Fallen will face no challenge from me."

Spike still hesitated. Happy to hear and all, that Blue had no designs on Buffy's demons. But he couldn't help feeling he had missed something. There was a distance in her manner he didn't remember. Not even from back in the beginning, before she lost most of her powers. He had the oddest feeling he'd just lost something - although he was at a loss as to what it could be.

"Well good then,"he said finally."Just wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings."

"No, vampire,"Illyria said quietly."There are no misunderstandings."


	21. Chapter 21

_"Do you see?"_

_Buffy spun as she found herself in the empty lecture hall. Adam stepped past her and she threw herself sideways, into the rows of empty desks. He tilted his head as if curious about her reaction, then descended the stairs until he was next to Professor Walsh's empty desk. _

_"Everything,"Adam said,"is bound by parameter."_

_There was a flash, and Spike yanked at the chains binding him to the desk._

_Adam regarded the vampire's struggles emotionlessly, then looked at her. "Hostile 17 is no different."_

_Professor Walsh walked toward the desk."Where does conscience begin, Ms. Summers?" She tilted her head. "You would know if you had done the reading."_

_"She relies on others for that sort of thing,"Giles said matter-of-factly. _

_Buffy spun around to see him sitting three rows behind her. "Giles?"_

_He smiled and nodded his head toward her in acknowledgement. Then tilted his chin toward the front of the lecture hall. Buffy spun around again and saw Adam holding a stake to Spike's chest. Before she could do more than raise a hand in protest, he rammed it through the vampire's ribcage._

_"Spike!"_

_He gave her a betrayed look, then crumpled to dust._

_"Do you see? All that is left when they are finished?" Riley demanded. _

_Tara laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and Buffy turned to look at her, distress and pain drawing wet tears on Tara's face._

_"Don't you see?" Tara asked softly. "The soul suffers forever." _


	22. Chapter 22

"Buffy!"

Expecting a forward thrust against her blade, Buffy was caught off guard when Ruarik checked himself and disengaged. She stumbled, instinctively starting the motions of a forward roll, only to have Ruarik clamp his free hand on her shoulder and stop the fall. She had a moment to give him a startled glance - the strength and speed in him still a surprise even after three weeks of training - and twisted around, putting him at her back.

It still felt extremely odd, him being there.

Neither Angel nor Spike had ever stood so far back, or so far to the left, covering her off hand. Then again, she'd rarely fought beside either of them while carrying a sword. It demanded more respect from those around her.

Ruarik was...quiet.

Spike had been all about the talking. He'd talk before a fight (mostly conversating), and during a fight ( badgering, commenting), insulting Buffy and the bad guys in equal measure. Then came after. The bickering, and the innuendo. Not needing to breath must have helped with all that.

If Ruarik had tried to step into the empty space at her shoulder, she could have yelled at him. Stepped away from him. She could have hated him for acknowledging it - that place - and forcing her to defend it. Riley never even noticed it existed. Never suspected it had form, and shape, and emptiness. No one seemed to notice the way she'd tilt her head slightly, listening for the inevitable commentary.

Forgetting, until she did so, why it was no longer there.

"Buffy!"

Graham was striding across the courtyard towards her. From the angle, coming from the comunications center.

" There's humans, waiting at the Gate,"he said when he got close enough not to yell. Then indicated Ruarik. "And more like him. They want to speak to the Slayer."

Buffy glanced at Ruarik to find him unalarmed, and unsurprised.

"Colonel Bast know yet?"she asked.

"He said it was your call."

Buffy nodded shortly, not really expecting a different answer. The military had already conceded that Slayer Inc was better equipped - physically, mentally, and emotionally - to deal with demons. Colonel Bast usually let her handle anything demon-related as she saw fit. And since, except for the Ruarik, mostly they ended up dead, she and Bast had not run into any irreconcilable differences. Yet.

They headed for the West Gate.

Riley hadn't been joking about walls under the street. Massive ones, three feet thick, sealed off every intersection three blocks out from the castle in all directions. Combined with the buildings, the barriers created three pedestrian-only concentric rings that people had taken to calling the Corridors. And sadly, the walls were needed.

The number of refugees outside the Corridors had quickly overwhelmed the castle's ability to feed them all. The sanctuary had never been designed to support so many. It had been assumed that food and water could be brought in by ship, or air dropped to the general populace within a week of any real disaster. Earthquake, had been their thinking. Or a tidal wave. All Buffy could offer was desalinated drinking water. And not a whole hell of a lot of that.

The eyes of the soldiers manning the Outer Gates were always haunted.

The guards were peering intently over the edge of the Gate. Wondering what was about to go wrong now, she joined them, studying the odd mix of beings on the other side. Twelve wooden carts were lined up outside the Gate. Sixteen humans in slave harness were attached to each one, while a four-armed demon teamster held reins in three hands and a steel-tipped whip in the fourth. Six Ruarik warriors glared malevolently at the desperate humans staring with avid greed at the covered carts before them.

Buffy doubted there was food in the carts, but she didn't think that mattered.

People who had nothing, would risk everything for a chance at something.

"This is so not good,"Buffy said under her breath.

The soldier next to her snorted, and she heard a sigh of relief when three squads of soldiers appeared on the walls to either side of them. Buffy assumed Graham had sent for them. Their faces were suitably grim, and they held their weapons at the ready.

A demon with dry skin and weird dangly bits on his face climbed off the first cart and fussed with his robes. Settling them into place to some personal degree of satisfaction, the demon walked to the front of the cart and bowed.

"My Lord Summers. We have brought the _tiend_."

The demon's voice carried.

"Might be something like a tithe," Graham said quietly, having come up beside her.

Ruarik seemed more interested in the onlookers than participating in the conversation.

Buffy directed her reply to the fringe-demon."I am unfamiliar with the word _tiend_."

If he was startled or offended, the demon hid it well. He simply held out his hands in a graceful gesture. "That which is yours, my Lord. To exhalt your greatness. To show the bounty of your domain."

She glanced at Graham, who shrugged cluelessness.

Since he was the one with the minor in cultural anthropology she reminded herself not to jump to any conclusions. Gifts from demons tended to have strings attached. Although, come to think of it, so did the ones from the Powers That Be.

"Does that include the humans there?"Buffy asked.

The demon seemed to hesitate, then he bowed."But of course, my Lord. Unless you wish to use them to return the other half of the _tiend_."

And since she still wasn't certain about the first half of the _tiend_, she supposed it was a good thing she now knew there was supposed to be a second half. Going in the other direction from the sounds of it.

"Definitely an exchange of some kind,"Graham murmured.

Buffy looked down at the demons and humans watching her. Then she sighed. There wasn't really much choice given she couldn't kill them. And not so much, when it might turn out that she was responsible for them. She also hadn't missed the fact that, in spite of the whips, the human slaves were unmarked.

"We going to open the Gate,"she told the fringe-demon. " We can discuss this _tiend_ at the castle."

The demon bowed again. "We are grateful, your most gracious Lordship. The poor offerings you see before you are but a token against your magnificence. A chance for your humble and respectful subjects to show our acceptance and understanding of your most beneficent rule. "

Buffy blinked.

"I have a list," the demon said helpfully.


	23. Chapter 23

_"The fate of humanity is to suffer."_

_The sky over the desert turned silver, then flashed red. Blood red, with the reflected fires burning below. Tara raised her head solemly, then the sky flashed again, and Buffy was alone. _

_"Suffering brings understanding."_

_Buffy turned sharply, seeing the stretch of white sand spread before her. _

_"What are you trying to tell me?" Buffy asked. _

_"When the soul understands that this life is illusion,"Tara said, "the burden is lifted. The soul becomes one with the Unseen. As it was meant to be."_

_Buffy closed her eyes as the world spun in place. Lifting her face to the purple sky, she remembered being finished. _

_"See beyond illusion."_


	24. Chapter 24

Death was her gift.

Her birthright.

Her art and her salvation.

It certainly hadn't been free. Most people got the Happy Meal, she got the toy surprise. Then they wondered why she went to bed hungry. Her death had meaning, once. A sacrifice, in a long line of sacrifices. Blood and pain and death. Offered up to unnamed gods by men who couldn't bear the price of the asking.

"You don't have to do this," Riley told her.

He placed a cup of coffee near her right hand and moved to lean against a nearby table. Graham sank into the chair across from her, picking up the nearest list and scanning it silently. The rest of the war room was quiet, the silence broken only by the rustling of the two techs watching the security cameras.

"I'm the reason their demon-lord is dead," she said, knowing as she said it, that Riley didn't want to understand.

Riley grimaced. "That doesn't make them your responsibility."

Graham glanced at him, his expression unreadable.

Most of the soldiers and half of the Slayers were still a bit freaked by the situation, what with the teamsters and Ruarik demons sparring every morning in the courtyard. Frankly, though, Buffy didn't understand what they had to complain about. Nobody had died or lost body parts. Nobody even got growled at.

Well...not so as the demon was serious anyway.

Most of the growls were just the usual snarly grumpiness from bored and cranky fighters. She'd punched the one four-armed blue-skin who tried to bite someone and knocked him into a wall thirty feet across the courtyard. Problem solved. He didn't have any hard feelings about the issue, so she didn't see why it should bother the humans any.

It even turned out that the teamsters' whips had been defensive. To be used on anything attacking the caravan. The humans who had come with the carts were volunteers, and their eyes held the same sense of desperate hope she remembered from Sunnydale. Back when people had looked at her, mutely demanding she save them all.

The space at her shoulder had never felt more empty.

"Look..."Riley said earnestly,"I get that you want to make this right. But you're in over your head here."

The pen in Graham's hand stopped moving.

"I'm not a child, Riley," Buffy said quietly, "and I'm not some loose cannon going off half-cocked and clueless."

"Oh - so you knew this would happen?"Riley asked sarcastically.

"I'm the Slayer,"she said, pointedly. "Offers to me pretty much fall into a limited number of categories."

"But..."

"No,"she said flatly."You need to understand this. Do you really think I agreed to Ruarik's offer just to save those children?"

He hesitated, then nodded slightly.

Buffy's mouth smiled, but she knew her eyes were cold. Hard Buffy. General Buffy. The Slayer. The one Giles told her to be, then didn't trust once he got her. "I agreed because he offered me slaves from outside the Wall. _Outside_, Riley. That took guts and smarts. It took information about what I'd value, knowledge about the geography inside and outside the Wall, and some serious fighting skill."

Graham resumed making notes on his lists.

"Those skills weren't on the table, Buffy," Riley said, as if desperate to get her to understand some danger she was missing.

She quirked a lop-sided, unhappy smile. "No. It was an invitation to dance."

Not unlike another demon had done, once upon a time. It hurt, remembering him. But it hurt worse to forget. There was so much she couldn't have done differently, but there were mistakes she didn't have to make twice. Luckily, for that plan, this wasn't Sunnydale and Ruarik wasn't bringing her flowers. The question of biological compatibility aside, he had a mate and three children.

It made it easier, that lack of an added complication.

"You can't trust any of them, Buffy,"Riley said flatly."Don't kid yourself. If everything had gone according to plan Ruarik would have walked away without a second glance."

Buffy shrugged."Probably."

"Then why...?"

"Because,"Graham burst out, exasperated, "the big bad demon came to the Slayer for help."

She smiled, pleased in spite of the complications. "He came to _me_, Riley, and everybody knows it. Do you even see what it's going to take to bring peace to this city? It isn't guns."

Riley was silent.

Buffy frowned." I think I'm still on probation, though. That's why this..." she gestured across the list-covered table, "is so important."

'Gift' was such a tricky word.

The things in the carts weren't trade goods. Nor was it about ownership. As demon-lord, Buffy owned everything within her domain ... including the demons. Or so Graham figured. The gift was in the choices. The decision about what to send. Something inside her said it was an obligation sharper than any claw or knife.

Graham rifled through the lists in his hand."No weapons. A lot of clothes. Jeans and good boots and work gloves. Half a drugstore from the looks of it. Some seeds from a garden center. There are also grafts and potted cuttings for climbing ivy, and wisteria." Graham paused, then raised a surprised eyebrow."All on the list of climbing plants the horticulturists emailed us four weeks ago."

Which sort of answered the question of whether Ruarik was in contact with the Ruarik left behind in the Wilderness.

"So...the understanding that I have humans to protect..."Buffy started ticking points off on her fingers.

"Slaves,"Riley muttered.

Buffy scowled at him."_Valuable_ humans that need to be kept in good working order and whose deaths and mistreatment will seriously piss me off."

Graham snorted and surprised her with a grin.

Her _tiend_ - her choices - had to be thought out with just as much care as the demons had shown. Her choices would show how much she ... recognized and respected their obligations? No...how much she recognized and respected which obligations they chose to respect. Her gift to them...

Riley picked up one of the lists and frowned down at it. He tossed it back on the table with a sound of disgust. "Medieval trade goods."

Graham snagged the list. Glancing at the contents he scowled at Riley. "Were you asleep during Ms. Rosenburg's lecture, Sir? Candles, spices, essence of rose...this is serious kit. Protection spells. Boundary spells. It's all here."

Riley rubbed his face, then gave a defeated sigh. "What do you need? I can't authorize weapons," he told her warningly.

Buffy frowned. "Weapons would send the wrong message."

Graham looked at the table for a long moment, then raised his head and pinned Buffy with a very direct stare."What exactly is the Slayer telling them?"

Buffy drew circles on the table with her finger. What did she want...no, what did she need to say?

"They are mine,"she said flatly.

Graham shared a glance with Riley."Okay. But what does that mean?"

She gestured helplessly."It means they follow the rules. They don't hurt the humans and I don't kill them. You can't kill them either...not if they are following the rules." Then she thought back to those first few few months after Spike got his chip and the things she had just assumed he knew. "Oh god, they don't even know the rules, do they?"

"Doubt it,"Graham answered after a moment's thought. "The demons in Sunnydale just kept their heads down. They understand the concept of laws though. Didn't you say there was a law firm here that specialized in demon litigation? I'm guessing most of it is pretty unsophisticated. Courts before the king sort of stuff, but it might give us a place to start."

"So we send them a lawyer?"Buffy joked, only partly not-serious.

Graham frowned."Maybe someone to explain the rules. Show them you expect them to be..."

"...productive members of society?"Riley scoffed.

"What's the other choice?"Graham asked bluntly.

"Don't bring yourself to the attention of the Slayer," Buffy said dryly."Or she thumps you."

"Or kills you,"Riley added forcefully.

Buffy just took a sip of coffee and didn't bother to disagree. Most demons had a live and let live attitude, but that generally meant looking the other way while somebody got eaten.

That wasn't good enough.

"Slayers," Buffy said abruptly, a sense of purpose and determination filling her. The purpose she had lost somewhere between Sunnydale and LA." We're sending them slayers."

She smiled grimly.

"They're my gift."


	25. Chapter 25

_Silence._

_How long had it been since sleep had been silent?_

_She sat quietly, listening to the stars as they spun and twinkled, dancing through time. Trees murmured softly and - faintly - she could hear a babble that one moment sounded like voices, and the next a river as it rushed away from her. _

_A cool wind slipped over her flesh, shifting the sand around her. _

_Except for the night, it was silent._

_She sat, and waited, and time collapsed around her. Night fell into darkness, and silence turned to absence. Her ears strained to hear anything, and finally she heard footsteps. Walking toward her over the desert. A pale hand reached for her own and drew her to her feet._

_She tilted her head to see Spike staring down at her._

_A Spike who was unnervingly silent._

_Movement over his shoulder drew her eye and when she looked past him, a man in old-fashioned clothes was watching her, despair wrote large across his face. He had brown curly hair and a cringing attitude. His shoulders were hunched slightly, as if he were trying to make himself small. Only his eyes pleaded with her. Blue eyes._

_Spike's eyes._

_She looked up at Spike with confusion and found the demon glaring down at her. Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness and he snarled._

_Then his teeth ripped into her throat._


	26. Chapter 26

"...the problem is the trucks. The hybrid engines just don't have the power to transport the mass we need when they're running on electric. It's taking all the bio-diesel we've got just to truck enough garbage to keep the generating station running at a stable temperature."

Sergeant Wickers nodded grimly when Bast looked across the table for confirmation of the report.

Buffy grimaced. Prior to this mission, her biggest concern over food was whether she had the money to buy any. Other than that, it lived in the supermarket and came wrapped in pretty packages. Even feeding the hordes that were the Potentials had been relatively easy once Sunnydale opened for looting. And frankly, it hadn't been her job to worry about it.

This, however, was the after-looting party.

And the once full shelves of food had been picked clean.

"What about swimming pools?" Bast demanded. "I thought we discussed using swimming pools for shrimp tanks."

"Neither of the two test pools are doing well,"Jensen responded reluctantly. "The environment is too uncontrolled for dependability, security is a nightmare, and we're getting way too much evaporation across the surface. We're also getting contamination from the tile paints and grouting."

"Can we separate the bio-fuel production from the rest of the system? Run it independent from the food systems? " Major Carring asked. "The trucks won't care about a little contamination."

Jensen shook his head. "The sewage that feeds the algae is the largest source of nutrients for the indoor farms. We can't remove it, without reducing our ability fully convert the castle to food production. We're getting bio-oil as a by-product, but the main goal is still to break down the raw sewage before it hits the hydroponics tanks."

"I'm just saying maybe we need to rethink that process," Carring said, a bit impatiently. "The way the refugees are going through water, the desalinization tanks are not going to be able to meet demand in...what? Six more weeks?"

Someone at the far end of the table shuffled some papers, then sighed. "Eight, max."

"The way I see it,"Carring said," we need another source of water more than we need additional food. If keeping the generating station on-line means diverting nutrients from food production in order to grow bio-diesel, I say, so be it. Half our problem is the water they need for all those balcony and rooftop gardens anyway. If we can get the water to them, let them worry about feeding themselves."

There were grimaces around the table, but no outright disagreement. Just a lot of unhappy faces. Originally designed as a test model to prove that garbage could be burned cleanly and without adding greenhouse gases to the atmosphere, the Plasma Generating Station - or PGS - heated the garbage to some insanely high, mad-scientist temperature, until it turned to plasma. At which point, everything from metals to toxic hospital waste was broken down into component gases and burned.

Salt water piped from the ocean was boiled off, generating both steam-powered electricity and distilled drinking water. The military had backed the idea both from the point of view of fresh water, and the ability to safely dispose of large numbers of dead bodies. For example, in the event of plague. IThe station was more than capable of producing enough water for the refugees, and power to the vertical farms to boot.

As long as they could shovel enough garbage into it, to keep it running.

" Jensen has already said we don't have the nutrient base to support more farms,"Carring said pointedly. " I think we should refocus, and get the Corridors engineered for people, instead of food. "

"I didn't..."Jensen started to protest."That's not what I said."

Carring pointed forcefully toward one wall. "We could shelter half the refugees in the Outer Corridor if we redesignated the eight buildings earmarked for food production. We need to get those people inside the Gates. "

"And feed them how?"Buffy demanded incredulously. "Also, we can't just write off the half-million people outside the Wall. I thought the whole point of this exercise was to give them somewhere to go. To develop a food production center capable of supporting those numbers."

Bast held up a placating hand. "We're not writing off anybody. But Major Carring has a point. "

"If we relocate the refugees closer to the PGS, they could start clearing the buildings and rubble in the nearby areas and the trucks won't have to travel near as far," Buffy said.

Riley frowned. "I didn't love this plan the last time you brought it up. I'm still not liking the idea of putting civilians so far from anywhere we can protect them. It's wide-open defensively, and they'll practically be sitting on the Wall."

"It's a risk,"Buffy said evenly. "I agree. But we can solve the water supply issue, and we don't have to slow down the conversion of office towers to indoor farms. And we can start sending people to retrieve the survivors outside the Wall."

Except for Lt. Jensen, who jumped on the idea with something like relief, nobody liked the plan. Hell, she didn't like the plan. Every strategic instinct in her body told her that leaving a huge, virtually unprotected source of protein right next to the Wall, was just asking for parties of demons with a serious case of the munchies. And it would draw attention to the generating station.

But other instincts were screaming too.

They were running out of time.

"They'd freak," someone said.

"So maybe we don't force the move,"Graham suggested abruptly. "We set up work camps. Take them out in teams, properly trained and supervised. That way they can keep their homes in the Outskirts, or can set up new ones near the PGS as they wish."

"The accommodations are nicer out that way," Jensen offered. "A lot of family homes with backyards to grow gardens. I don't think we'd have any shortage of volunteers, even with the added security risk. "

Bast let the conversation run as people discussed the idea, hashing out a plan. Ultimately, everyone went with Graham's idea of work-camps. Simpler to retrofit one apartment building into quarters for voluntary workers, rather than the mass chaos of a forced relocation. Plus, it would give them time to find and sweep the areas they were targeting for residency.

Finally Bast started to bring the meeting to a halt. "I want proposals on my desk by Wednesday. Especially any thoughts on a water credit system."

Everybody nodded.

Bast smiled, genuinely pleased with the results of the meeting. "Good. So before I send you on your way, does anyone have anything else..?"

One of the Intelligence experts - Captain Keller - raised his hand slightly. "I just want to add, that so far, satellite is showing that the demons outside the Wall appear to be settling down. Territorial borders are still fluctuating, but for the moment, all looks quiet. Human populations have stabilized and there doesn't appear to be any serious movement toward us. So far, the Wall appears to be holding them back."

Ruarik let out a harsh burst of sound that Buffy thought might be laughter.

"Fool," Ruarik grunted, when everyone looked at him. Buffy frowned, surprised when he strode over to Keller, ignoring the man's uneasy lean back. Ruarik pushed one large finger against the officer's stomach. "Host. When ready. All of you. Hosts. Or food for the young."

Before anyone could react to that disturbing condemnation, a tentative knock at the door was accompanied by an apologetic communications tech.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said to Bast. "But there's a Ms. Rosenberg on the line for Ms. Summers. She says it's really important."

Buffy felt a twinge of unease grow into a knot of Godzilla proportions as the tech held out a wireless receiver. Bast nodded that it was okay and she felt her hand dampen as she gripped the plastic.

"Will?"

"Hi, Buffy,"Willow said, her voice sounding seriously disturbed."I'm sorry to call like this, but ...well...I thought you should know right away. Y'sa had one of his mages contact the coven."

"Y'sa?" Buffy echoed. Like...huh?

And he contacted the coven? The coven in Devon? The lives-in-England, halfway-around-the-planet coven?

"Yeah...very scary. Sort of a Linda Blair thing. Don't want to do it again,"Willow said unevenly. "But Buffy? He said he wants to negotiate with you, demon-lord to demon-lord. Gave us a location, too."

"Negotiate for what?" Buffy demanded, conscious of every face in the room watching her curiously.

"He says he has Spike's soul."


	27. Chapter 27

Otherwhen...

_Daia stared into the Delphinian Orb, fascinated by the novelty of a single future. She who was, and was not, and would ever be an Oracle watched over and over, delighted as a child when the Orb showed no variation. She watched as the Slayer leapt from a tower, and the futures folded themselves into a single unwavering line._

_**Spike protected the Key as best he was able. **_

_**He earned money to help with the house in Sunnydale. He watched Dawn - kept her safe - on the nights he didn't patrol. He moved into the basement after Dawn was injured by a demon brought forth by Willow. The resulting argument saw the red-haired witch move out, while Spike remained. **_

_**Through Dawn's marriage, through the birth of her daughter, and to the end of her bitter divorce, he stayed. He helped and tried to apologize for his failure to save her sister. Dawn's daughter blamed Spike for her father's absence and without the memories her mother possessed, saw little in the vampire to recommend him.**_

_**He did not drink as much as he used to. Dawn had not allowed it around the baby. But he grew lonely. After Giles died. After Harris was injured in a construction accident. Tara left Sunnydale after several attempts to reconcile with Willow. The witch came around occasionally - when she remembered - but most days she was lost to the magics. **_

_**So sometimes he would drink. **_

_**And sometimes he would forget. **_

_**Sometimes he would remember a woman who had looked at him, battered and bruised as he was, and for one brief moment saw something other than a monster. One night, after a bad patrol and too much whiskey, he stumbled back to the house and passed out on the floor. When he woke, it would be the daughter glaring down at him, her hair newly tinted blond and wearing something she had found in the attic. **_

_**Still half drunk, the vampire would see Buffy. He would think she was a dream - that she had come for him. He would think he'd finally done enough, that she had forgiven him his broken promises. He would try to touch her, eyes gone yellow with emotion, and the girl would panic, raking at his hands and face with her nails. Thinking only to keep her from running away, the vampire would grab for her shoulder, tearing her shirt in the process. Then he would stagger after her, howling Buffy's name until the girl locked herself in the bathroom. **_

_**Dawn would find them the next morning, Spike passed out in the hallway and dreaming of a past with Buffy that had never happened. The vampire would wake to hatred in Dawn's eyes as she held her hysterical daughter and glared at Spike's scratched face. Then she would order him to leave, and never come back. He would demand to know what he'd done, his voice getting louder and louder when no one would tell him. **_

_**Dawn's anger would terrify him. Given the nature of his dreams, the scent of his own release on his clothes would make him fear the worst. Three days later Dawn would find him lurking in the bushes and tell him he hadn't hurt the girl. He'd only scared her. And he would stare uncomprehending when Dawn refused to let him come home.**_

_**"You didn't hurt her, Spike. But you could have. She's not a Slayer. She can't knock you down the next time something like this happens."**_

_**He would swear it wouldn't. Never again. **_

_**Dawn would just look at him sadly."Something like this always happens again."**_

_**He would beg, pride lost to desperation. He would promise to stop drinking, and he wouldn't like how old she looked when she shook her head. It wasn't just the drinking. It was the way he saw the world. **_

_**He would tip his head to the side, trying to understand. "You want me to be nice to the neighbors?"**_

_**"No,"she would say softly,"I want you to understand why I want you to be nice to the neighbors."**_

_**But he didn't. He couldn't.**_

_**Not even for her.**_

_**"I'm not a Slayer,"she would say finally. "I owe you so much, Spike, and I love you. I know you love me. But it's not enough. I have to protect my daughter."**_

_**He would just stare at her, knowing she knew he could never bite either of them. He couldn't physically hurt them, even if he wanted. Something all of them had forgotten in the face of her daughter's tears. And just as clearly, not what she meant at all.**_

_**"Just tell me what you want, Bit," he would beg.**_

_**She would shake her head sadly. "I can't. I used to think it was just because you didn't know better. That you just needed reminding. But it's more than that. "**_

_**"What does it matter, as long as I do what you want?"he would demand, getting angry.**_

_**"Because there's something missing inside you and you don't even care."**_

_**She would whisper the next words, as if that would stop the pain. As if that would stop it from sounding like an accusation. He would hear it anyway. And he would remember another voice, from another time, saying the same thing. **_

_**"You can't love without a soul."**_

_**He would just look at her; the only thing left of his Slayer. The part of herself that Buffy had valued more than her own life. Then he would make a decision that would finally bring him into Daia's grasp. Make him her Champion in truth. Not so coincidentally, he would knock that pesky Shanshu prophecy on its ass.**_

_**"So I'll get one,"he would say.**_

_**And he would.**_


	28. Chapter 28

"...it doesn't make sense," Buffy burst out. " Why are their souls just floating around ready to be grabbed anyway? Shouldn't they be in Heaven or something? "

"Yes...about that..."Giles said faintly.

"Not to be all Shirley Maclean, but from personal experience...neither of them was angry enough to have been yanked out of Heaven. After they got them back I mean."

"Buffy..."

"Spike was crazy, granted. But not my-girlfriend-sent-me-to-Hell crazy. And only for a couple of weeks. I think we can agree the First was responsible for most of that."

"Buffy..."

"No, Giles," she said flatly." I can't wait."

"Willow thinks the coven has almost solved the problem with the barrier around L.A. She might be able to teleport in as early as next month," Giles said pleadingly.

Buffy studied the soldiers and slayers waiting patiently for her to finish her phone call. How did she explain the growing certainty she felt that she was running out of time?

"Spike doesn't have a month, Giles," she said quietly.

He was silent. Probably resisting the urge to say something she'd regret.

"Are you sure?" he asked finally.

She snorted. "Gut feeling, Giles. Not exactly Weights and Measures approved."

But yeah...she was sure.

So sure, she had brought every available slayer and every soldier Colonel Bast would give her. Ruarik and the rest of her original escort had come too. She was less certain about their usefulness. She had a suspicion they hadn't made their final decision about her yet. At least having them along had kept attacks by roving demons to a minimum.

She aimed the conversation back on target. "So someone had enough juice to snabble Spike's soul from oblivion and is keeping Willow from snabbling it back. But if I smash the container his soul is in, it's open season?"

"That was the theory," Giles agreed, sounding odd.

Buffy hesitated, contemplating the oddness.

"She did it before, with Angel's soul," she pointed out, just to be clear. "When Jasmine had his soul prisoner. Where's the theoretical? And what's with the past tense?"

Giles did that bad news inhalation thing he did. The one where the bad was of the really bad and people died.

"Giles...?"

"It's been made...rather clear actually...that we are to leave Angel's soul alone. The coven is interpreting the backlash headaches as a warning that he is still under the protection of the Powers That Be."

"So you've said. Giles...?"

"We've encountered no such problems with Spike's soul, of course. But...that is to say..."

"Giles! Imminent battle looming. Approach with caution no longer applies."

"Yes...quite right. You need to be prepared. It's just ...," Giles mumbled, still sounding reluctant, "have you ever heard the term Guardian of Souls?"

"It wasn't on the required reading list," she said bluntly.

"You have to understand, Buffy, much of what I've been able to discover is...well, to be honest, it's questionable at best. Surprisingly, there seems to have been very little research into - very little knowledge about - what happens to a vampire's soul after he has been turned."

"Not a topic of interest, I'm guessing."

He sighed," A rather disturbing oversight. It would appear that vampires exist in a rather grey area as far as the Powers are concerned. There are also several rather confusing references to a question..."Giles trailed off as his mind jumped tracks.

"Like a riddle, you mean?"

"No...I don't think so," Giles said. "Regardless, there appears to be a sort of mystical holding cell for vampire souls while their status is undetermined. That status cannot be determined until...well, until no more actions that can count for or against the soul can take place."

"Until no more...Giles, that doesn't make sense."

"Until the vampire is dust, Buffy."

"How can the actions of a monster count against a human soul? They aren't the same people, Giles. Believe me...I know. "

"And I agree with you," Giles said." But apparently the Powers That Be do not. For as long as the vampire exists, his crimes accumulate against the soul of the former occupant."

"But that means every time I dust a vampire..."

"You are releasing his soul from Purgatory," Giles said, attempting to put a good spin on it.

"Sending it to Hell you mean," she said, feeling stunned. And dazed. And betrayed.

Giles was silent for a long moment. "Probably."

"Oh god."

"Buffy...none of this is in any way your responsibility."

"Oh god. That means...oh god. Giles...how can they do that?" Buffy demanded, horrified. "The people they were before, none of that is their fault. This has to be a mistake or something. I mean...this is wrong, Giles."

And if need be, she'd go before the Powers That Be, and tell them herself.

"The soul will burn for his crimes," Giles said flatly." As will all the souls of every vampire that has ever walked the Earth."

"Well that's just evil," she said angrily. "And I think I should...oh god. Giles! When are the souls released from this holding cell?"

"The soul is released by the Guardian when it is no longer possible for the vampire to reclaim it."

"But Spike..."

"I suspect Spike's soul was captured at the moment of his death. Probably by the amulet. I'd suggest trying to find out more about it, but unfortunately..." Giles trailed off.

"But unfortunately Angel is dead," she said for him.

Carefully not thinking about what that meant for his soul. Determinedly not thinking. She couldn't. She'd deal with Spike first. He was her responsibility. "What about Evil, Incorporated? What do they say?"

"They claim to know nothing about it. I can keep pushing..."

"No," she said," leave it. But I need to know about Spike. Should I be looking for the amulet, or something else?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea. Willow says transferring souls from one container to another is not difficult as long as there are no magics in place to protect against just that. It may be how they retrieved his soul from inside the Hellmouth in the first place."

"And if I break the container...?"

"Without a corporeal body to bind his soul to this plane, it goes off for judgment."

Buffy looked at the three dozen slayers, thirteen Ruarik demons, and the two full squads of combat specialists that Riley had lent her - all waiting for her signal to enter the belly of the beast. She shifted her gaze to the doors that marked the entrance to Y'sa's domain.

"Then I guess I better not break the container."


	29. Chapter 29

Y'sa's territory bordered most of the North Wall. Or to be more accurate, a big chunk of its territory was now under the North Wall. The military had used the edge of the downtown core as its sight line when they dropped the skyscrapers that created the Wall. As a result, most of the skyscrapers Y'sa had controlled were on the other side of the Wall. Or part of it.

What he had left were mostly low-rise apartments filled with humans.

Or at least, they used to be.

With his north edge the Wall and the west edge bordered on water, Y'sa was actually in a good position to protect its territory. The hungry things in the water left his ships alone, and according to satellite, the docks were always busy. Y'sa did a rousing business trading between the Hellmouth, and territories north and west.

If and when the military decided to starve out the northern territories, Y'sa's docks would be the first to go. A fact the demons didn't seem to realize, which made Buffy wonder if - in spite of the Wall - they truly comprehended the damage human weapons could do. The only reason no one had targeted the Hellmouth yet was the high and unstable energy readings. No one was sure what would happen to the fault line if they did.

Setting off the Big One seemed a bad way to save the city.

"Can I just point out, I don't think this is wise?"

Buffy grinned. "People keep saying that. You think maybe they think I'll start listening?"

Graham snorted, then scanned the roofline of the former community center. "No snipers, nothing with wings. Demons at the door are a nasty looking bunch."

A point about which Buffy agreed.

"Those aren't the demons I'm worried about," she said.

The demon she had to worry about was the demon lord. Ruarik had been silent on the subject ever since the messenger had arrived. Silent...and a bit perturbed. Not that he was admitting to perturbation, but he'd seemed - not nervous exactly - but tense. Only not battle tense. More like he was expecting to have to make a decision and he didn't like the fact he was being pushed. She'd worry about it later.

Spike's soul was in there somewhere, and she was going to get it.

The demons at the door seemed slightly surprised when Ruarik gestured curtly for two of the Ruarik escort to proceed first. And when Buffy stepped past them, leaving her sword sheathed on her shoulder, a low growl rumbled in Ruarik's throat as the guards leered down at her. She noted how hastily the guards backed up and reminded herself - again - not to get complacent about Ruarik.

He wouldn't be an easy kill, even if he didn't catch her off-guard.

The hallways were empty and quiet. She didn't see anybody. No demons, no human slaves. Her feeling of growing uneasiness was borne out when she stepped into the gymnasium and saw bleachers crammed with bodies. Demons of all species - mostly half-breeds - but a few pure demons that were bigger even than the Ruarik. They all murmured and chuckled among themselves, eyeing Buffy and her escort with all the excited anticipation of Roman spectators on holiday.

More bodies crammed the second floor spectators' windows. Armed guards lined the gymnasium wall, and at the far end of the room, a tall demon watched her. A much smaller demon stood at his side, her amour the color of dried blood and her hair striped with electric blue. Buffy recognized both of them from her dream - although Y'sa was smaller than she expected. Only fourteen feet or so.

"Not bad," she mumbled," Could be worse."

Then Y'sa smiled.

"Or maybe not," she said.

Courtiers stood to either side of the demon lord while some unfortunate human was chained to the floor in front of him. An iron cage had been erected in the center of the gym, but far enough to the left that it didn't obstruct her view or get in her way as she walked toward the demon lord. She gave the people inside a quick regretful glance - there was nothing she could do to help any of them at the moment.

Maybe when...

"Buffy?"

She froze. Certain for a split second that her heart had stopped. Then it thudded once, hard, against her ribcage and she realized she'd stopped breathing.

"A - Angel?" she stuttered, unable to move. Feeling like the world would break apart around her if she tried.

She turned.

And ran the last few steps to the cage.

He grabbed her hand as she blindly thrust her arm into the cage, trying to touch him. Tears burned her flesh and she was conscious only of his hands as they came through the bars to grab hold of her.

"God, Buffy. It is you."

She wanted to hug him. Break through the bars and feel him against her. To know he was real and not some evil hurtful dream.

"You're alive? You're really alive?" she demanded, the pain in her chest too large for joy or happiness. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

He smiled a bit oddly.

Then his smile faded and he looked away from her, toward Y'sa who had not moved. The demon-lord was studying the tableau with an intensity she didn't like.

"Oh, god..."she whispered, understanding abruptly. "He's going to make me choose, isn't he? You or Spike's soul."

Angel started to speak, then was struck by a crackle of magic. He was thrown back into a huddle of girls she suddenly recognized as slayers. When she whirled to the right, she saw the same energy crackling slightly across the demon lord's talons. Y'sa smiled oddly, with a strange sort of anticipation.

"You are correct, Slayer. There is a choice to make. However, the human does not interest me. You may have him, and the children with him, when the choice is made."

Buffy was about to comment on the difference between vampires and humans when she remembered the touch of Angel's hands on her skin. His warm hands. Her head snapped around and she stared at Angel, shock and disbelief warring within her. He wasn't moving, clearly knocked unconscious by the magical blast, but even from where she was standing she could see his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. A steady human rhythm.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"What choice?" she asked huskily, and could have damned the betrayal of her weakness when she heard her voice break.

She moved toward Y'sa, instinctively trying to draw his attention away from the cage.

The demon-lord stared at her, fury in every line of his inhuman form. He wasn't a half-breed. He wasn't even nominally human. But somehow she didn't need a translator to know Y'sa was angry with her. Very very angry. One of his limbs twisted and a glowing sphere of shimmering light appeared in what passed for his hand. Y'sa gave it a contemptuous look even as he bared his teeth in a smile.

"A half-breed recently reclaimed his soul in your name. Do you acknowledge the claim?"

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, part of her noted that the abruptly silent demons in the bleachers were watching avidly. Buffy stared at the orb, mesmerized by the beauty of the softly flowing colors. That was it. That was Spike's soul. She knew it, even without Y'sa smirking at her.

"Yes," she said abruptly." I acknowledge the claim."

She felt Ruarik shift unhappily behind her.

Y'sa cocked his head." Which claim?"

Buffy blinked, confused.

"Which do you claim?"Y'sa elaborated, clearly enjoying every syllable. " The demon or the soul?"

Ruarik shifted even more unhappily and Buffy sensed a trap, but she didn't know the rules. Or what she might be saying if she said anything. Not when every demon was watching as if her answer mattered. Not with a blue-haired demon burning with power, standing beside Y'sa. Buffy could feel it, boiling and hungry, barely contained by the living flesh that bound it.

It was the most terrifying thing she had ever felt.

"Both," she said firmly, pulling her attention away from the scarier of the two demons.

Spike.

She had to concentrate on Spike. The demon who had loved her. The demon who had fought for his soul. He'd been hers, even if she had been too caught up in her loss and self-loathing to understand it. Yes, she claimed both.

"Ahhh..." Y'sa said, pleasure and satisfaction in his voice. "Then chose," he said simply.

Buffy blinked. Surprised. "I don't understand."

Y'sa indicated the man chained to the floor in front of him. Then raised the orb significantly. "The half-breed...or the soul."

And Buffy, who'd spent the last two years trying to track Spike's soul, convinced it was her penance for his death - who had thought she'd come to terms with his death and everything that had gone before - felt her world shatter, and crash down around her. Spike didn't move, didn't look at her, and she stood motionless. Trying to remember what the world should feel like.

Air across her skin. The rustle of fabric if she moved. The damp smell of a cemetery at night. The scent of hot blood and the weight of cold metal heavy in her hand. The tingle in her bones that whispered vampire. All of it, chaining her to the earth. Reminding her that she was alive, and needed to walk and talk and remember to respond to what was happening around her.

She always forgot - how small he was.

It was wrong, seeing him like this. Hunched over. Broken. Curled in on himself like a dying spider. He had always seemed so much larger than life. Vivid color in a life steadily fading to shades of grey. The threat he'd posed, larger than the man himself. The intensity of his emotions, seething inside him like a supernova.

He had to know she was there.

He had to sense how close she was standing.

Y'sa rolled the orb containing the soul across his fingers and Spike...

Spike refused to look at her.

Buffy felt a chill run down her spine. That was Spike's soul. The thing she had trusted to keep him from killing her friends. To keep him from killing...anyone. It had been the reason she had allowed the chip to be removed.

"What have you done?" she heard herself ask numbly.

Y'sa snarled. "You have taken that which was mine, and can never be mine again. I return the blow in kind. Choose, demon-lord," he said mockingly.

She remembered Ruarik and turned her head toward him warily.

Y'sa smiled maliciously." Do not think the choice so easy. I would have you suffer for what you have taken from me. Balance, Lord Slayer. You cannot suffer, if you are dead. This is not a choice he can judge you for making. The vampire is yours, demon and soul, to do with as you wish."

And the soul suffered forever.

"You will let the others go?" Buffy asked. "If I choose?"

Y'sa shrugged. "They have no value to me."

The demon-lord waved an arm and the cage door was opened. Another wave and demon guards began herding the prisoners out of the cage. She saw two slayers carry a still unconscious Angel with them. Y'sa's point was obvious. He wanted the choice to be her responsibility, and hers alone. She would lose the demon, or she would lose the soul.

And she alone would choose which.

A flick of his hand and the orb was flying toward her. She caught it, remembering the person Spike had been, under its influence. Or the man it had become, under his. Either way, the man he had fought to be.

"Release the vampire, and the soul is yours,"Y'sa said bluntly." Or release the soul. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart will pay well for it, and their anger is so much greater than my own. The choice is yours."

Or not.

But even as she thought it, she knew she couldn't risk a fight. She was heavily outnumbered and most of her force was outside, guarding the retreat. Angel and the slayers with him were unarmed and exhausted. Spike was chained to the floor. And there was a burning demon staring at her, the end of the world in her eyes. This wasn't something Buffy could win with bravado and she would get her people killed if she tried.

"Those are my choices?" she asked, the pain of her failure trying to make itself known. She shoved it back down inside. Down where all her pain lived. She had to be strong. Hard. She had to - oh god, she already knew what she had to do.

"What will...what will happen to him?" she asked haltingly, refusing to look at either the vampire on the floor, or into Y'sa's eyes.

In her head, she could hear Tara's voice. Remembered what had been said. Remembered what her own soul had screamed at her from the moment she was ripped out of Heaven. The demon at her feet - the flesh was all that existed. When he was finished, the body would crumble to dust and there would be nothing left. He was a dead shell. Empty of soul, lacking human feeling and conscience.

But his soul...this beautiful shimmering soul would suffer forever.

"I have no use for vampires," Y'sa said with disinterest.

And she knew somehow, that the moment she left him behind, the demon would be turned to dust. Which was better than a lifetime of torture. Better than an eternity being tortured by the likes of Wolfram and Hart. And easier than what would happen, when she found him in a dark alley with blood on his lips.

She gazed into the orb, warm and tingly against her fingers, and it recognized her. Everything he was or could ever be, trapped inside. Love and trust shimmered along the edges, drawing tears to her eyes at the beauty of him. Her own soul ached from the touch of it and she remembered a time of souls touching souls. Not split apart by blood and bone and the intensity of being.

Mind, body, and soul, she remembered. Her blood and pain was a small price to pay to protect that which she held cradled in her hands. She held it tight and stared dry-eyed at the demon chained to the floor.

"I'm sorry," she told him roughly.

She closed her eyes as the orb shattered.

She threw the broken pieces at Y'sa's feet. Refusing to cry. Refusing to fling back her head and scream until her voice shattered and her ears bled.

"I release my claim on Spike's soul."

And the words were said.


	30. Chapter 30

She drew her sword.

"Bring him," she ordered curtly, beyond caring how Ruarik would react. Fortunately for both of them, Ruarik was not inclined to argue. He broke the chains with one powerful blow and dragged Spike upward by one arm. The vampire dangled there, seemingly uninterested in anything around him and she wondered briefly what had been done to him. Then she shoved the worry aside for a better time.

The spectators seemed as shocked by her decision as Y'sa and they were unnervingly silent as she walked away. Some stared at the vampire in Ruarik's arms. Others eyed the power that snarled along the edges of her sword. Buffy half expected resistance from those disappointed by her decision. But they encountered none.

Y'sa wanted her to suffer.

She could not suffer if she was dead.

They duct-taped an unresisting Spike into a sleeping bag to protect him from the sun. The unknown slayers- including the two carrying Angel - fell in wordlessly with the rest of the group. She ripped the phone from her pocket and speed-dialed Giles.

He answered, sounding breathless and worried.

"Get Willow," she said flatly." Now."

Scanning the surroundings for demons.

She didn't even wonder when he didn't argue. She just listened impatiently as he conferenced Willow into a three-way that normally would have had him muttering about long distance charges.

"Spike's alive and his soul was released back to Purgatory," Buffy said bluntly, before Willow even had a chance to ask what had happened. "I need you to get it back. Just the soul. Don't curse him."

"I...er...okay," Willow said. "Oh! But I need a claim against him."

"I had to release mine." Buffy said, mentally gauging the distance to the Wall. Ruarik paced behind her, carrying Spike easily in his arms. The rest of the escort spread out, looking dangerous. "What about Xander? "

"Yeah. There's a problem with that," Willow said awkwardly." Kidnapping and attempted murder would normally apply. Except, well, Spike saved Xander from Caleb. At the very least, he saved his other eye. So, ah...no."

Buffy didn't have time for this.

"What about you," she asked impatiently. " The bottle in face, death in the dorm room thing?"

Willow cleared her throat. "I sort of karmically owe everybody," she mumbled. "For - you know - trying to destroy the world."

Buffy snarled, conscious of Ruarik's curious gaze on the back of her neck. "We have to move here, Will. I don't know how quickly Y'sa can dig up another claim. What about Giles?"

There was an ominous lack of contributing from his end of the conversation.

"Giles?" Willow asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Giles said tightly." I have a claim."

Buffy waited, but he didn't speak further. "Giles?"

"It...I...he was there. When Angelus tortured me," Giles said in an emotionless tone. "He's the reason I gave ... yes. I have a claim."

Buffy grimaced as she realized what he was talking about. "No, you don't. Chainsaw, remember? Spike saved your life," she said, trying to control her anger with wasting time on bad memories. "It was part of our truce."

There was silence on the line. Then Willow coughed lightly. "Ummm...truce?"

Buffy gave the phone a startled glance.

"You know," she reminded them." My truce with Spike. To stop Angelus. How can you not remember? It's not like stuff like that happened every day."

"Ahhh...Buffy?" Willow said awkwardly, "you never told us about a truce."

"Sure I did," Buffy started. Then remembered everything that had followed. "Didn't I?"

More silence answered her.

"Okay, forget that. Spike and I had a truce. Saving Giles was the condition for me not dusting Dru. There's no claim. Next?"

She was getting very tired of silence as an answer.

"For the love of god, "Buffy snapped," he's threatened to kill us for years. Are you saying none of us have a claim against him? Adam! What about that whole thing with Adam?"

"We kinda did that to ourselves," Willow muttered, embarrassed. "Plus, he got Oz out. And he got you the information you wanted about Adam's plans."

"It's not like he did it to help me, Will," Buffy protested.

"Well, no. But it's what you wanted. It's not enough. If I try and it's not enough, bad things happen."

"How bad? On a scale of sunburn," Buffy said," to say, oh...full-scale apocalypse?"

Willow coughed. "I shred his soul into a million pieces?"

"Yeah, okay. That's bad." Buffy grimaced and wished Giles would jump in with something useful. Right about now-ish would be good.

"What about Robin?" Willow said hesitantly. Sounding embarrassed. "Spike did kill his mother."

"Mystically, the Slayer is considered a willing sacrifice. "Giles said, sounding vague. As if only half his attention were on what he was saying. Not his normal tone of voice when the plot to kill Spike came up in conversation.

"Er...okay," Willow said, sounding confused. Then her tone shifted thoughtfully. "You know Buff, you probably have a claim against Robin because he tried to take Spike away from you...and not helping," she said apologetically. "Sorry."

"You guys ..." Buffy started to say.

"Oh! Oh!" Willow interrupted excitedly." He bite him! Andrew. Spike bit him."

"Does that even count?" Buffy asked cautiously." Spike was being controlled by the First."

"Well," Willow said slowly, thinking it through." it was the result of whatever he had to do to get his soul back-and he agreed to that. So I'd say it counts against him. Mystically anyway."

"Okay, excellent." Buffy said with relief. "Do it." She shook her head in disbelief. "We're mortal enemies for years and the only one who has a claim against him is Andrew. Does anyone else have a problem with this picture?"

And again with the no immediate answer.

"Never mind," Buffy said." Just hurry. And Giles...? Find out everything you can about the Guardian of Souls."


	31. Chapter 31

"This is a lousy place to camp,"Graham told her bluntly. "No cover. No way to secure an exit. We're sitting ducks out here."

"We'll make better time after dark," Buffy said. "You've got night vision goggles, right?"

He nodded.

"So we're good,"she said, determined to be optimistic.

Graham gave her a sideways glance, then continued to scan their backtrail with binoculars. They had gone as far as they could with Spike inside the sleeping bag. He might not need oxygen, but they'd discovered a vampire could go into something resembling convulsions if he was in one long enough. The combat medic had shrugged and mumbled something about it maybe being related to heat exhaustion, but she wasn't sure.

Angel was still unconscious in the care of his slayers. Buffy hadn't had time to do more than exchange greetings, but they seemed competent. She told herself she wasn't being a coward and avoided that part of the camp as she did a sweep of the perimeter. Ruarik and the escort were alert and where she had told them to be.

So she gave herself permission to slip into the tent that held Spike.

The two slayers she'd assigned to guard him regarded her warily, stakes clenched tight in their hands. His wrists had been manacled to the cot and from the look and smell of his clothing, none of his wounds had been treated.

"What's with the bondage?" she asked shortly.

It didn't hurt to be reasonably polite. She could start banging heads together after courtesy failed. And gaping astonishment? Probably a good sign that failure was immient.

"Look...uh...Rachel, right? Those chains? So not necessary."

Rachel clutched her stake, her gaze unfocused. "He told us not to let him hurt anybody. When he knew what they planned to do." She smiled a strange, eerie smile. "He told us...whatever it took."

Ohhh...kay. What was with the body language from Planet Not-All-There?

Wiggins with a side of creepy.

Buffy rapidly reassessed why Spike might have attached himself to these two slayers. The way they had been guarding him earlier, she'd thought they'd be comfortable with him. Now she was rethinking those thoughts. Thoughts that were making her shoulder blades itch because she'd left him alone with them.

Alone, unarmed, and unconscious.

"You're her, aren't you?" the second slayer said abruptly. "The one he talked about."

Buffy's train of thought was temporarily diverted. "He talked about me?"

It wasn't like she had expected Spike to forget about her, but still...it was nice. That he'd talked. About her.

Catarina.

That was her name. Rhymed with ballerina.

Rachael shrugged,"Mostly he argued. With the other one."

Ah, yes. Spike and Angel having conversations about Buffy. Must have been fun.

Or not.

"He...he wasn't right," Catarina said. "After they took his soul. He..." She raised a hand to her neck and brushed trembling fingers across it. "He tried to bite me," she said softly. Betrayal and confusion in her voice.

"Before or after he snarled at you to bugger off?" Buffy asked dryly.

Both slayers looked at her with startled eyes.

"Would you keep watch outside, please. I need to check for injuries."

She needed to check his ribs. She had no desire to hold him down while they broke the ones that had healed wrong. Did it once. Not on her list of things she wanted to do again. And the fact he was still unconscious wasn't a good sign. Daylight, true. And convulsions. But this lack of consciousness seemed excessive even by Spike's standards.

She waited until the flap fell closed before kneeling beside the cot and reaching out a trembling hand. He didn't move as she laid her hand lightly against his cheek. Half-expecting his eyes to open, she tried to let herself believe, really believe, he was here. With her. She traced the bones of his face slowly, absorbing the reality of his existence.

"You're alive,"she whispered. Not - quite - daring to feel anything that might break her. Saying it, the words fell loud and awkward in the tent, and didn't chase away the sense of time suspended. She ran her fingertips lightly along the line of his lower lip, trying to understand.

He was alive.

Spike was alive. Among the living. As in, not among the dead. Not ashes. Not...

Outrage flared as the obvious hit the floor with a thud. Almost, she reached out to shake him awake just so she could knock him unconscious. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she didn't know when or how he'd been resurrected. The fact he was here with Angel in L.A. could be a coincidence. A big fat, he better not have had access to a cell phone, coincidence.

"You are so going to be punished, "she muttered, brushing at the curls along his forehead, "and not in a good way. Stupid vampire. It was Angel, right? He said something to you? Convinced you it was for my own good? Stupid vampire. " And she wasn't sure which stupid vampire she meant. " Or I know...you figured I wouldn't want you anymore. I got that new life I wanted and there was no place for you in Buffy's World."

Stupid stupid vampire.

"You jerk - did I tell you it was okay to die? Yeah, okay, saving the world. It always seems like a good idea at the time. But it wasn't okay to die. And if you do it again, I'm coming after you," she told him. " I'll bloody well drop-kick your stupid ass back where it belongs - and then I'll kick it again for good measure."

His hair had grown out again. She traced several ugly bruises on his face. Ugly enough that there could have been skull fractures, but she saw no evidence of deformity and there were no squishy spots when she ran her fingers under his hair.

"I may have released my claim on your soul - which we are going to get back by the way. Willow's on it. But your ass is mine, Spike. You don't get to die unless I kill you."

She debated the wisdom of removing the manacles. Spike, as a general rule, didn't wake up mean. Another fact that had puzzled her when she'd discovered it. She'd just kind of assumed...dangerous predator, killer instincts. She had a sneaking suspicion his nose woke up first, though. She wasn't sure what would happen if she did it by pressing on broken ribs.

"You missed Dawnie's graduation. You know she'll be pissed about that. Be scared, Spike. Be very scared. She will make you pay. And pay. And...did I tell you she's taking a combined major? Top of her class, " Buffy told him proudly." Witness the family pride."

His shirt had adhered to his skin. When she doused him with saline solution she discovered the skin had actually started healing around it. She had no choice but to cut it out of him, taking strips of flesh in the process and reopening several deep gashes. She used tweezers to pick dirt, fabric, and bright green scales out of his wounds.

"She's taking Classics and Comparative Religion. Yeah...I thought that last was a bit funky too, given the givens. But she says it's good training for later. She says she's going to be my Watcher. Personally, I think she just wants an excuse to order me around, but she says it's her job to see I make it to annoying little old ladyhood. Cats and all." Buffy smirked. "She says that's what family does, and if I have a problem with it, it's my fault for setting a bad example."

Even when well-fed, Spike tended to look unnaturally pale. Unless, that was, he was feeding on more humans than he could digest properly. Those last few weeks in Sunnydale, under the control of the first, he'd actually looked flushed and almost tanned. A side-effect of the hormones and such running through the blood. As for the detox tremors, he'd been coming down off fear and adrenaline. And, given the number of male victims, a testosterone high as well.

Currently, he looked like death. And not in a healthy vampire way. There was yellow, where his skin had edges. Like the thin line where his face met the darker skin of his mouth. Also, at the corners of his eyes, and where his nose curved in around his nostrils. The rest of him seemed almost blue.

"What the hell have you done to yourself?" she demanded.

His ankles weren't restrained - a rather foolish oversight if the wrist cuffs were supposed to do any good - but it made it easier to get his pants off him. There seemed to be less damage to his legs, and as she used saline and a dry towel to wipe him down, she was relieved to note nothing more serious than a few fading bruises. No dislocated knees, or badly healed broken bones.

"Giles is heading the new Council," she said, resuming her one-sided conversation. "Although between you and me, I don't think he's happy. We'll have to see what we can do there. Willow has been working with the Coven, and tracking down slayers. She and Kennedy broke up just before I came to L.A. - not all that dramatic, really. Willow says she's ready to move on, but she's not in a hurry to rush things. They're still friends."

As she worked a pair of clean army pants onto his body, she was alarmed at how easy it was to slide one arm under his hips and lift him. Granted, he wasn't the biggest vampire on the planet, but he should have been heavier. A vamp his age? Definitely should have been heavier. The bones got thicker or something. Either he'd been starved for months, or he'd taken some serious injuries getting captured.

"I realize you'll think that proves they weren't in love, but I think they just weren't right for each other. I mean, just because Angel and I were never friends doesn't mean other people who love each other can't be friends."

She took the cuffs off long enough to get an olive green t-shirt on him. And could she just say, that for a color that loved nobody's skin tone, it was almost annoying how good he looked. Especially given how bad he looked. She wrapped his wrists so the cuffs wouldn't chafe and reluctantly restrained him again.

"I missed you, Spike,"she told him quietly.

Each word feeling like they had to be ripped from her chest. They were there. Hard lumps of jagged edges jammed in under her breastbone, making it hard to breathe.

"I never got to tell you how mad I was at you, for going away. You weren't supposed to go, you know. You were supposed to stick around and be sorry, and beg me to forgive you. And I was supposed to say I was sorry too, and everything would go back to the way it was before I died. "

He'd be back in his box - his nice secure box - where he couldn't hurt her, or confuse her, or make her want things she wasn't supposed to want. It would all go back to the way it was supposed to be.

"Only you went away," she said, with more than a touch of resentment," and when you came back, you weren't you anymore. And that really sucked because ... well, you weren't there to be mad at, and I was still mad at you. Plus, jeez Spike...a soul? Way to go with the big gestures. Blows candy and flowers all to hell."

There was so much she had never gotten to say. What was the point, after the soul? He wasn't Spike any longer. It wasn't the Spike who'd hurt her, looking at her from wounded blue eyes. And how was she supposed to feel about the fact she'd she'd missed him, her Spike. The one she didn't love. And she'd resented him, the one the demon thought she would.

The one who, after he got his soul, tried to be her friend.

"You need blood,"she said abruptly, getting to her feet.

Catarina and Rachel gave her odd looks when she strode from the tent and she realized they'd probably heard every word she'd said. For a second, she wanted to be embarrassed. Old instincts telling her to be ashamed. To hide what she'd done. What she felt. Which was pointless, and she wasn't going to worry about it. She wasn't ashamed.

She wasn't.

Graham was waiting for her at the campfire, a med-kit resting on the ground by his feet. Buffy looked at the gathered slayers, those who hadn't been assigned watch. All of their faces unfamiliar.

"So what happened?" Buffy demanded.

A few of them flushed and averted their eyes. Clearly they weren't happy about having been rescued from a cage. Most of them glanced at a tall brunette who gave Buffy a narrow-eyed once-over. Buffy raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"We were betrayed," the young woman said bluntly. "By that freaky demon-chick who hung out with the vampire."

Buffy felt her own eyes narrow slightly at the disgusted emphasis on the last word. "The vampire has a name," she said evenly.

The brunette snorted.

A couple of the slayers shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the tent. The rest just looked at the ground or nodded in various degrees of agreement.

"I suspect the vampire," Buffy stressed the word deliberately,"is in large part responsible for why most of you are standing here. Alive. Walking. Talking. I suggest you rethink that attitude. Immediately."

The brunette shifted her weight and Buffy's inner Slayer whispered warnings in her ear.

"Melanie..."one of the other slayers behind the brunette said uncertainly.

Melanie ignored her."The one who saved us had a soul. That...thing in there is just another monster."

Buffy nodded knowingly,"I see. And you would know this...how?"

A blonde slayer half-raised her hand as she spoke. "We all saw it. He went crazy after they...there was this light and he screamed..." her voice went soft with remembered horror." He tried to bite Crazy Cata..." the slayer broke off, flushing awkwardly. "I mean - he used to protect Catarina. Even Angel couldn't get near him, and if any of us got close he..."

Buffy nodded, ignoring the tiny voice inside her that begged her to listen to them. The Slayer knew how dangerous Spike could be. She wouldn't be doing them any favours by telling them otherwise.

And he didn't have a chip anymore.

"I beleive you. Spike is dangerous,"she said bluntly. "He was in pain, and probably very confused. Every instinct in his body would have been screaming at him to knock you down and drain you dry."

Funny...they didn't seem to find her explanation at all reassuring.

"Here's what you didn't see,"Buffy said flatly." You didn't see Spike pretending to be your friend. Or flirting. Being all bashful bad boy. And those pretty blue eyes ... couldn't you just die?"

Understanding began to dawn on some of the watching faces. Most just flushed and looked somewhat guilty. And angry that they felt so.

"Spike is a predator,"she added bluntly." He was built to kill. Rather like us. And he is very very good at it. If he pushed his dinner away, I'm asking why. I suggest you do the same."

She motioned toward Graham. He grabbed the med-kit and stood up.

"He needs blood," Buffy said casually, as if she did this everyday. "Slayers can fight a pint low as long we drink something afterwards, so no humans on tap."

They seemed shocked, not being included as human. Which was interesting. She would have thought Spike would have told them. He'd certainly never missed a chance to tell her she wasn't completely human.

"I'm not donating blood for that thing,"Melanie said with startled defiance.

Buffy shrugged. "Then leave."

There was a pause as they registered the words, caught off-guard by the relaxed, non-confrontational attitude of her body.

"What?"

Buffy's eyes hardened. "Leave. Vamoose. Scram. Go back where you came from. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out." She shifted her weight and widened her stance, planting her hands on her hips." This city is under siege. If you don't think the world is on the hook with it, you haven't been paying attention. I need fighters I can depend on. Ones who will go where I say, and do what I tell them."

"We can fight," one of the slayers in the back protested.

"Can you follow orders?" Buffy demanded."Good ones? Bad ones? Everything in between? If you expect to shelter within my city, eat my food, and sleep under my protection, you damn well better believe I expect you to follow orders."

Because she couldn't afford a civil war inside the Wall.

"Who says we need your protection?"Melanie growled.

"Then be elsewhere,"Buffy said emotionlessly.

And there was nary a hint of protest from the soldiers within earshot, nor Ruarik , who could suddenly be seen behind them.

Melanie's expression soured, but after glancing at the girls around her, she dropped her eyes. Reluctantly. Buffy felt something harden inside her. Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. Not with limited food and no one else to do the job if they failed. Or split apart, fighting among themselves.

"Here is where I need to be brutally clear,"Buffy said slowly, pitching her voice so everyone could hear. "Your strength is useless to me if you cannot be trusted. We're not playing for kittens, people. We're fighting to save the world. Come with me, and you commit here and now to following my orders. You have a question, ask. You disagree, I'll listen. You change your mind, you're always free to leave. But if you disobey - or put the mission at risk by inciting others to disobey - make no mistake, I will have you shot. Or I'll break your neck myself."

She met the eyes of each and every slayer staring at her.

"Decide."

Nobody moved.

Buffy waited another several heartbeats to give them a chance to change their minds. When they held steady, she nodded and smiled grimly. "Welcome to Hell."

She pointed at Melanie, then to the chair beside Graham. "We need four pints of blood immediately. You're first."

Melanie tilted her head, not quite insolently, but treading the line. "If you only need four, why don't you ask for volunteers?"

Buffy's inner Slayer smiled toothily,"Because I'm making an example of you."

Not wanting to damage the hierarchy of the group, or lose the leadership potential in the girl, Buffy directed a disgruntled Melanie to pick the remaining three slayers to donate. Buffy knew some might see it as a punishment, but the fact was, most of these new slayers had already been following Melanie's lead.

Best they learn now that success wouldn't be the only thing they'd share.


	32. Chapter 32

The blood bags were unpleasantly warm in her hands as she made her way back to the tent. The plastic felt slick and greasy against her skin. They moved, squirming slightly as the blood shifted within, and she was reminded of balloon animals filled with warm water. Except these felt alive.

She carefully laid the bags on the first aid kit, using it as a makeshift table. Easing herself onto the cot behind Spike, she pulled him against her, picking up the topmost bag. His head turned sharply as she brought it near his face. Bones cracked, and she almost lost hold of his body when he lunged forward.

Blood splattered everywhere. Even the fact she knew it wasn't his fault, that his fangs were designed for tearing not siphoning, didn't improve the ick factor. Or the smell. And the heat didn't help. He freaked her out a bit when he leaned forward to lick the blood from her skin, but she didn't protest. It wasn't even a surprise, when he didn't try to bite her.

Given his lack of consciousness, it was reassuring that he understood the difference between slayer-in-a-bag and slayer-on-the-hoof. Although really, while she might trust his unconscious self not to chomp down on her neck, she wasn't about to risk anyone he hadn't slept with. His body went boneless against her as he finished the third, and she heard an odd clicking purr start up somewhere in the back of his throat.

There were things - other things - she should be doing. Talking to the new slayers. Finding out more of what Spike and Angel had been up to. How they came to find themselves trapped in a demon-lord's clutches. Chained and not-awake, Spike didn't need her to comfort him. She didn't need to be here to guard him, or reassure others that she had him under control. There was absolutely no practical reason she could think of, for her to be here.

With Spike.

Nor was she going to obsess over the fact he didn't have a soul. Or a chip. This was her. Not worrying. She was also not going to think about Angel, and what his being human meant for her. Them. Spike. She wasn't going to rush to his side so she could hold his hand. Touch him. Prove to herself that miracles really could happen. Because they usually didn't.

Not in her world.

She didn't get the money-back guarantees. She got fine print. Codicils. Unexpected life altering side-effects. And oh! A giant red shoe just waiting to fall. And the weird thing was, this was what she had wanted. More, even. Angel, alive. Angel, human. And here. Now. With her. Guilt and rival-free. Except...

Except.

She was no longer the girl he'd remember. He'd never even met the woman she'd become. The couple of times she had seen him, there'd been no time. Just apocalypse and sorrow. Maybe Angel wouldn't want her anymore. Maybe he'd never really wanted her. Not the real her. Maybe...

This was all sorts of wrong, panicking over one man, holding another. It was wrong and it was shallow and she just wanted Spike to open his eyes and tell her what she was really feeling. He had a way of doing that, of making it all simple, even as he made it more confusing. He was the only place that had ever felt real and honest and - well, not safe exactly. But he was always there, always seeing the real her, when she was confused and miserable and alone.

And that was bad.

Really bad.

He wouldn't stay. He wouldn't just be there, somewhere in the background, while she made with the Disney ending. She couldn't ask him, and he wouldn't say yes if she tried. So...apparently she had found it. An answer years in the making.

The one thing that could finally make him go away.

It was wrong, that it should hurt so much, something that should have made her happy. Angel was alive. Against all odds. Against all reason. And the only thing she knew for sure, was that she still wasn't ready to let Spike go. Sliding down onto the cot next to him, she considered the fact there was nowhere she needed to be. No orders she needed to give. Nothing she needed to do that was not already being done. It was hours away from dark and she hadn't slept in ...

...forever it seemed.

Since Y'sa had offered Spike's soul.

She was almost afraid to sleep. Afraid to dream. Afraid of what those dreams might tell her. It didn't matter anyway, because there was nowhere she planned to go, and a tired Slayer was a cranky Slayer. Cranky Buffy wouldn't win any awards for congeniality, and wasn't that partly why she'd failed in Sunnydale? She wasn't friendly enough, while the world was falling down.

She laid her head against Spike's shoulder, and slept.


	33. Chapter 33

_Otherwhen..._

_Rohan watched his sister as she gazed into the Orb. He did not need to ask what pleased her so. Truly, the End Time was upon them. For the first time in all time, there was only one possible future. After the Slayer sacrificed herself for the Key, the Orb showed no more variation, and that had never happened before. Already, the yesterwhen was fading, taking the threads of possibility with it._

_It was a dangerous state of affairs. _

_Despite prophecy, nothing was written into the fabric of the universe until it happened. And yet, the Orb showed now but one future. It wasn't that this future was guaranteed, it meant there was no alternative. If this future did not come to pass, there was just...nothing. Rohan could not begin to guess what that meant. _

_He suspected it wasn't good._

_Once the Slayer jumped, the vampire would be set upon the path to prophecy. Rohan could not alter Spike's fate without leaving the Universe without a future; therefore, so it would be. Once the Slayer died, Spike would acquire a soul, because the Slayer __**must**__ die. Her choice had been written into every dimension that ever was, will, or would be._

_Nothing though, was as it should have been. _

_Unless possibility changed, the First Evil would manifest into the Physical Universe beforetimes and without the possibility that Good could do the same. Uncounted suffering souls would be lost until prophecy delivered humanity to the mercy of the End of Days. _

_This future was never supposed to have happened. Never had it been foreseen that the Balance could be broken in such a manner. The potentiality had not even existed until the Acathlan Prophecy unfolded as it did. And yet...Rohan hesitated. Whistler had been only partly correct. It was the Slayer who had made the choice to ally herself with a soulless vampire, and yet..._

_The one who had been truly unwritten was Spike._

_Every potential, every possibility surrounding the Slayer who marked the turning of the End of Days had been considered. Eons had been spent tracking every decision, every line of Fate that led to her. Every person who intersected her line of influence weighed and weighted and influenced into a path of better choosing. Destiny might not be able to control a Child of Chaos, but her choices were as constrained by those around her as any other._

_The Slayer's deaths had been foreseen. As had the potential of her love for Angel. The gypsy curse had been no accident of Fate. It had been damage control. Both sides had wished to claim the Champion the Acathlan Prophecy foretold:_

"_**Aurelian blood to awaken Acathla. Aurelian blood to close it. Aurelian blood will ally itself with the Slayer, and within itself, see the birth of a Champion."**_

_It was a true prophecy; a cross-dimensional decision point for the flesh-bound souls. Even so, prophecies were usually half-hearted. Crossing only one or two potentialities, they shaped the flow of the Physical Universe in tiny increments, or were easily swept aside. Some prophecies however, were stronger, crossing many dimensions. _

_And some prophecies were immutable, crossing them all. _

_Such choices gave birth to nexii, minor and major. Pivot points on which the futures hung, fixed and visible - from beginning to end - to both sides of the Unseen war. They were, if such needed description, the rules that defined the continued existence of the Physical Realm._

_The Acathlan Prophecy should have been a minor nexus._

_Beforetimes and in all times there had only ever been two outcomes. Had she chosen the human love chosen for her, one Alexander Harris, Acathla would have been wakened by Spike. Had she chosen Angel, Angelus rose to power, and did the deed. In all choices, Angel presided over his own birth as Champion - although Champion for which side was a perpetual question. _

_In none of those choices, did Spike ally himself with the Slayer._

_Pure random accident, that he met the terms of the prophecy. Once done however, it could not be undone. Rohan wondered what the corrupt creature would have chosen had he known aforetime where that path would lead. Both vampires had met the terms of the prophecy and the Universe was forced to offer opportunity to both. Champions both, did they but choose it. _

_Odd though, that Spike's choice would bring him to the Slayer's side._

_That too, had not been foreseen._

_And now they were blessed with Paradox. To be Nominate, Spike must have the opportunity to gain a soul. To answer the Question, he must possess the possibility of Free Will. Yet, with the witch lost to the magic, the only path to a soul open to him would place him within the power of the First Evil._

_The Question could not be answered thus. _

_Nor, Rohan could see now, could Angel answer the Question. That possibility had been lost through the many interferences of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. He assumed it was a tactical decision based on their strategy to control the circumstances of the Shanshu Prophecy. They had always argued Angel was not the answer to the Question. _

_So..._

_Spike could not be Nominate and answer to the Question both. Angel could not answer the Question. Circumstance already existed that would force Angel to claim the Shanshu Prophecy. That left only the Question. Would though, there was a future within the Orb that offered a chance for an Answer. Rohan frowned as he pondered his sister's delight. What Answer did she see, without Spike? _

_The Slayer must die to protect the Key._

_Locked into the future of that choice, Spike would acquire a soul. _

_The Universe, however, was obligated only to Balance. It did not care about the Champion's reasons for seeking a soul, only that opportunity existed. Spike was a demon, and the Demon Trials existed. Therein lay opportunity. That the gypsy curse had been provided by one side, and the Demon Trials the other, met the terms of Balance. _

_To claim his soul, Spike must declare himself a Champion of Evil. That he would hold no intention of honoring that oath was to be expected. It was a given therefore that there would be safeguards. Penalties. The demon would even know this, yet it would not matter to him. The demon would not believe it could be chained. _

_Or manipulated. _

_Or forced to kill upon command. _

_Yet, if this future held, thirty-seven years from yesterwhen, it would happen. With Dawn's blood on his lips, Spike would release the First Evil into the cradle of human souls. Dawn's great-great-granddaughter would eventually take his head with the Slayer Scythe, but not before Daia feasted on despair. By the time the Counting of Souls began, the souls that found their way to the Unseen would be crippled, useless, tainted beyond repair. _

_As for Spike, there would be no Answer found there. Unless..._

_It was anathema to consider. _

_How could he even contemplate causing such pain to a Champion? Once ripped from Paradise, she could never return. To cast her out from the reward blood contract had promised walked the edges of the forbidden and the obscene. The terms of the contract had been met. She had not wavered. There would be a price demanded of Rohan, did he do what he was contemplating._

_Something to equal the agony of a willing sacrifice._

_He must hope such a desperate choice would not be necessary. If Spike could be removed, if Angel could be made to see the threat he represented, Rohan would have no decision to make. There would only be the possibility of one souled vampire were Spike to die. There was only one point in time, however, where it could be done safely. If Angel failed, there was only one path left._

_Prophecy said that the Slayer must die. _

_It did not say she could not live again. _


	34. Chapter 34

"Buffy?"

She jerked awake, her blood pounding.

"I'm okay,"she said after a moment. Blinking rapidly, trying to orientate herself.

Graham coughed. "I can see that." He hesitated, glancing behind as if to check that the tent flap was closed. "Not why I'm here."

Memory returned abruptly, and her arms tightened around Spike. She said the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm not staking him," she said flatly.

Graham eyed her speculatively. "Might be better if we did it now," he said non-committally. "While he's still unconscious."

"How humane," she bit out. Wondering if she should have armed herself before sleeping. "Riley ask you to do it for me, Graham? To make it easier on me?"

She could see several answers, shifting in his eyes.

"No,"Graham finally said. "No one knows yet."

Buffy was suddenly very glad that Spike was a vampire. She'd have broken him otherwise, as her arms tightened. As it was, he stopped breathing. Not in an awake sort of way. More in a reaction to not being able to make his ribs move. It occurred to her to wonder if she had ever hugged Riley in her sleep and hurt him. He wouldn't have said anything if she had. But...

Angel. Angel was human now.

And so not going there.

She couldn't fail Spike again. She couldn't lose him, and be the tiniest bit glad she wasn't losing Angel. She couldn't face one more day of wondering if she could have been faster. More persuasive. More believable when she'd told him she'd loved him and damn the consequences. Because Spike had been right. In that moment, when he'd become everything she'd known he could be, she'd loved him. But she hadn't been in love with him.

She knew that.

Because what she felt for him, felt nothing like what she felt for Angel.

"There are options," she told Graham, an edge in her voice. "There are still options. Giles and Willow are working on a way to get his soul back. I just need a little..."

She broke off, hearing echoes. The same words spoken with the same desperation. The same sense of crashing disaster and impending failure. It was Sunnydale all over again. Spike was going to terrify them and they weren't going to listen. They weren't going to understand. Graham. Bast. Riley. They'd look at him and they wouldn't see the bruises.

Always bruises.

They wouldn't see hands nearly severed by a sword. They wouldn't see the demon who had never even tried to defend himself from her pain. They wouldn't see the anger, and the hatred, or the lust, and the love. The refusal to lay down and die, when everyone thought he should.

They wouldn't see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to understand what he'd done wrong. The handwritten poetry she would never admit she'd found. Or the jacket he wore, the way Giles wore his car.

They wouldn't see.

They wouldn't see any of it, if they saw anything at all.

"He's more than motes of dust," she whispered.

"You know this is going to cause problems, though," Graham asked bluntly. "Right?"

She didn't answer. Just turned her head and laid her cheek across the top of Spike's head. Graham eyed her with a strangely intent look on his face.

"I need to know, Buffy. Because...well...how much of that did you mean out there?" Graham asked uncomfortably. Moving one hand uncertainly when she looked at him with confusion. "The part about shooting them."

Buffy closed her eyes, not wanting to admit that at that moment, she had meant it all. She smiled mirthlessly. "You think Bast will be less than approving?"

There was a long silence, and she didn't need to know what he was thinking.

"No," Graham said softly.

Her eyes shot open and she realized maybe she did need to know what he was thinking. Immediately. As in right now. And she found she couldn't say a word. Graham gave her a level look that suddenly seemed far more meaningful than it had only yesterday. Harder. Darker.

Something.

She tilted her head slightly.

"Colonel Bast would have questions," Graham said evenly."And it's not like he wouldn't expect there to be a trial first. But I need to know where you draw the line. Chances are, if you drop the pin, I'll be the one pulling the trigger."

Buffy stared at him with shock.

"I need to know," Graham said. "So I know what to look for."

"I..." she stuttered. Not having expected that answer. Not expecting to have to give him that sort of answer. "Not just because," she said uneasily. Floundering. "Not because they had to make a decision in the field. Not because they stopped someone from committing an atrocity. Not that. I don't want robots. But I don't..."

She trailed off, uncertain how to explain what she did want. Not sure she had the words.

"They can't just decide not to follow orders because they think they know better," she said bitterly. "They can't just decide they know better because they don't like the price."

Graham studied first her, then Spike, a calculating expression on his face. Conclusion reached, his shoulders squared up and she waited grimly for the denouncement. The apologetic certainty that - once more - her evil ex-lover had to die. She was caught off guard when the tension drained from Graham's body. Nor was she prepared for what he said next.

"It probably won't be long, you know. Until the conditioning breaks."

Buffy tightened her grip on Spike, waiting for the rest. Except, that was all he seemed to want to say.

"What?" Buffy demanded. Not certain she trusted his apparent acceptance. Just like that?

Graham gestured toward Spike. "You know. The chip."

It was Buffy's turn to look blank.

"Was this that thing with the dogs and the dinner bells?" she asked doubtfully. "Because I wasn't big with the whole drool thing."

Graham inhaled, as if to answer, then stopped. Looking confused for a moment. He exhaled explosively and continued to look confused. Which was fine. There seemed to be alot of that going around.

"You know he's not even supposed to be alive right now, don't you?" Graham said finally. Then waved a dismissive hand when she glared. "Not what I mean. It's just...he...I thought you knew."

Buffy wasn't certain the look of sudden reevaluation on Graham's face was a good thing. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide what to say.

"Did Riley ever make you watch The Dirty Dozen?" Graham asked slowly.

Buffy snorted. "His, like, most favourite movie ever? Please."

Graham grinned suddenly, commiserating. " Yeah. The thing is...the movie lied. The real experiments were a disaster." Graham's smirk faded, Serious-Face Guy taking his place.

Buffy suddenly wasn't liking where the conversation was going.

Graham continued grimly. "A true psychopath feels nothing. Especially fear. No fear means they have no control. They don't duck. They don't care about the consequences of not following orders. So the docs thought pain might work, to rewire their thinking patterns. Condition them. That's what we were told anyway, when they said where the research came from."

Buffy chewed on that explanation. Thinking about all the things she did and all the things she didn't do, because of fear. Fear of what her friends would think. Fear of consequences. Fear of disapproval. Fear of losing their love. Of being alone. None of it directly life-threatening, but all of it controlling her just the same.

Conditioning her.

"Vampires feel fear," Buffy pointed out.

It wasn't the same sort of fear that humanity felt. She didn't suppose it could be, not being based on the same things. But there were some things, some fears they shared. Some fears they could be made to feel, under certain circumstances.

Spike had never feared for himself. Not before the chip. Not really. Not even after she'd half killed him and put him in a wheelchair. He'd enjoyed flirting with danger, the same way she imagined skydivers enjoyed jumping out of planes. Only being Spike, instead of savouring, he'd gulped it down whole.

Until the chip.

She hadn't acknowledged it, hadn't wanted to see it, but she hadn't missed the brief look of terror on his face when she'd woke him by hitting him with a candle. And there had been other times. It had pissed her off, that look. And the way he made himself ridiculous, trying to cover the fear. It pissed her off even more, that it bothered her.

He'd been horrifying. An utter absolute promise of death. He was why she had been created. He was also the first vampire she'd met - other than the Master - who'd she'd known - with absolute utter certainty - could kill her. Could kill all her friends. So it had felt incredibly wrong, unbelievably wrong, that any part of her could respect him or find him compelling in any way. She'd told herself it was just a predator thing, one recognizing another. On some level, it had been true.

And then the chip.

It had made him ridiculous. Pulled him from the shadows and thrown him at her feet, angry and helpless. Just a short, skinny, complaining, annoying, pathetic excuse for a swaggering villain who was worse than her mother when it came to tacky soap operas. And who'd looked boyish and cute, rumpled, and real, and close enough to touch, all chained up in Giles' bathtub. Which was wrong. Because vampires were supposed to be evil, and fashion-challenged, and -well - abnormal. They weren't supposed to hold actual conversations, and be people.

Some part of her had despised him for it. For being less than he was supposed to be. For being weak and not worthy of her. And some part of her had felt sorry for him in a way Giles and the others would never understand. Because that could have been her. Made weak, facing the Cruciamentum with nothing more than attitude and fear.

Graham was studying both Buffy and the vampire in her arms. The look was unsettling. Speculative. And she didn't have to wonder why. It wasn't the first time she had contemplated what someone could do with an army of vampires.

Or worse, one vampire like Spike. Determined.(impulsive) Focused.(insecure) Goal-orientated.(ruthless) Observant and intelligent.(moreso than they had originally thought) Flexible.(without conscience) Adaptable.(without remorse) Resilient. (without hesitation)

The perfect weapon.

Without question.

"Whatever changes them into a vampire, doesn't really seem to make them psychopaths," Graham offered." More a predatory sociopath."

"Yeah," Buffy said shortly."That would be the loss of the soul."

Graham shrugged. "Professor Walsh thought we could refocus their predatory urges. She was using the chip to map the effects."

"She was trying to map the soul?"

"I'm not sure," Graham admitted. " I don't think she believed it existed."

"Yeah? I think we can safely say she was wrong," Buffy said dryly, remembering the feel of Spike's soul against her skin."Why didn't Riley...I mean, he knew all this?"

"Honestly, Buffy...we thought you knew. We assumed that's why he survived. Because you knew. We didn't think he would, given that 20 years as a vampire was supposed to be the outside limit on making it through the identity freeze."

He smiled. Like she'd gotten an "A" on her final exam. Like he hadn't just dropped her headfirst into a bowl of ice-water.

"They...the others died?"

"Suicidal," Graham said matter-of-factly, not appearing to recognize her growing panic. "Found some creative ways to kill themselves, too."

"Graham...," she managed to say, her mouth dry. "Spike...he's a lot older than 20."

Graham nodded, eyes brightening with something like admiration. "That's one of the reasons Professor Walsh wanted him back so badly. Based on his accent and some of the things he said, the experts figured he must have been turned almost fifty years ago."

As if that figure were nearly unthinkable.

"Fifty," Buffy whispered, horrified.

"It's ironic, you know,"Graham said. "We were worried you'd kill him before we could get him back."

Buffy closed her eyes.

"Graham...," she asked finally. "What's identity freeze?"


	35. Chapter 35

Personality disintegration.

That's what Spike was facing.

As she walked away from the tent, ignoring the eyes that watched her, she considered what Graham had told her. What he'd wanted to know. He'd asked questions. Deeply personal, agonizingly painful, humiliating questions. And she'd had to tell him everything. Every detail of what she'd done and said, and what Spike had done and said. She'd watched his face as she talked herself hoarse and she hated it.

Hated the telling.

Hated the questions.

Hated the fact she sometimes didn't like her own reasoning, coming at it from this perspective. Not that she could have done anything else. The whole Spike situation had just been icky back then. She hadn't been able to look at him without seeing everything he'd done. Like a bloodstain across his non-existent soul. Everyone he'd hurt.

Everyone he'd killed.

Spike hadn't cared. Oh...he'd cared about her. Like an obsessed teenage boy. But he hadn't cared about the people who'd really mattered. The ones in the wrong place at the wrong time and who didn't have Slayer strength to pound some respect - and a healthy dose of fear - into that thick skull of his. Without the chip, Buffy would have found Willow dead in their dorm room. Cold sticky blood congealing on the floor, and her smile - her everything - gone forever.

That was what she had seen when she looked at him.

The deaths. The pain. The tears of the victims. But she'd let him touch her. A murderous, untrustworthy thing, and she'd let him in. She'd let him inside, where only people she loved or respected should go. Because why? Because of the way he'd looked at her? The hands that had touched her body were the same ones that had tortured and maimed and raped and killed and he hadn't really changed. He didn't have a soul.

She touched him anyway.

She let herself forget, because they were dead and she wasn't, and she'd needed to be not dead. For Dawn. For her friends. For all the nameless victims who weren't dead yet. And she'd hated herself for forgetting. For finding excuses. For letting him live. Although looking back, she could see all the things that hadn't been visible, going forward.

Like the way he tried.

And how she had hated him for trying.

It had mattered, that he'd tried. It shouldn't have. But it had. He'd tried to change. Demons didn't, but Spike had and something was either wrong with the world or the way she saw it, but that had mattered. Because maybe the fact he was a monster wasn't what he was, but the way she saw him. The way he saw himself. And maybe that could change.

A lot of things could change.

For the third time that day, she called Giles.

"Buffy?" he asked, sounding distracted.

She opened her mouth to say what she needed to say, then stood there, unable to say it. She didn't know how to say it so he would come. Here. Where all the danger was. Where she needed him.

"He's going to come apart," she heard herself say. Wishing - not for the first time - that Giles would just know what it was she was trying to say. That he would know and have an answer and make it all right in her world. Because this wasn't right, and her world had been upside down and sideways for a long time now.

"Giles...he's going to come apart and I don't know how to stop it."

"Buffy?" Giles asked again, this time sounding more alert. And cautious.

"We did it to him, Giles. We're the ones who changed him. He should have died, but we gave him rules. Only we didn't know what we were doing. Graham says it was supposed to be done under laboratory conditions with psychiatrists and doctors and all sorts of other people who knew what they were doing." She inhaled against the tears that were trying to choke her. "I don't know how to fix this, Giles."

"We'll figure it out, Buffy," Giles said soothingly. " What is it that we need to fix?"

Buffy closed her eyes. "Spike."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Buffy, we're working as fast as we can. Willow..."

"Not the soul..." she said, interrupting him. "Not the soul, Giles. Him. The chip wasn't just to control him. It was supposed to break him. Graham says, that's how you break a vampire."

"By taking away his ability to feed," Giles said, not sounding nearly as shocked as he should have done. And seeing the implications faster than she had. "It makes sense, of course. Spike's whole identity was tied up in his ability to feed. He said himself he wasn't a vampire anymore. More than once, as I recall."

"Graham thinks that's why he came to me," she said carefully.

"Because you still saw him as a vampire,"Giles said musingly. "Of course. As the Slayer, you wouldn't have been able to see him as anything else. I see."

No...no, he really didn't.

"It's rather ironic, really," Giles said.

She swallowed. "As part of the reintegration process, the...subject...is put in a situation where his survival depends on bonding with the people around him. It's...it's like boot camp."

"And cults the world over, I'd imagine," Giles said, sounding all intellectual...and still clueless.

"Giles..."

"It's rather fascinating, in an absolutely appalling fashion, isn't it?"

"Giles..." she tried again.

"So this explains why Spike was so obsessed with you?" Giles continued. "Some twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome?"

"No," she said nervously. "I mean, I suppose. But no. It was more than that. Graham thought...thinks...that it probably started before then. The chip just sort of...gave him an opportunity to get what he wanted from me."

Giles snorted, then coughed when he realized what he'd done. "I'm sorry Buffy...but Lieutenant Mills wasn't there was he? Spike back then was trying to kill you."

"Miller."

"What?"

"Graham's last name. It's Miller. And he thinks Spike was mostly trying to get my attention."

This time, Giles didn't try to cover the derisive scoff. "Like dropping worms down a girl's jumper? I don't bloody think so."

"God!" Buffy burst out. "Giles will you just listen to me? Not everything about Spike and me is about sex. In fact, most things about Spike and me are not about sex. Why can't you see that? A lot of this was about Angel."

There was a pause. "And it isn't about sex?"

She dropped her head, resisting the urge to bash it against the nearest solid object. "Okay. So some of it was about sex. But Graham thinks on some instinctive level, being Angel's girlfriend made me - I don't know - part of the family. The alpha female. Especially after Angel killed Darla for me. Don't you see...it's the same thing Spike tried to give me, when he offered to kill Dru. I know it sounds stupid, but he was following the rules."

The ones Buffy had taught him.

"Buffy...I have no doubt that somewhere in that cesspool Spike calls his brain, he saw you as a way to get a leg over on Angel, however you are also the Slayer. His very life depended on your goodwill. Personally, I think my original thought on Stockholm Syndrome still applies. And that sort of connection goes both ways. It would certainly explain your reluctance to kill him."

Buffy was trying to wrap her head around the image of Spike getting a leg over. She was fairly sure Giles didn't mean literally, but still - he had some nerve telling her she was the one obsessed with sex. And her reasons for not killing Spike had always been complicated.

"I'm not saying that wasn't part of it, Giles. But you're missing the point. It wasn't just me. It was all us."

"Buffy..."

"He wanted to take Willow and Xander hunting. After he found out he could hurt demons, he wanted to take them hunting. That's what vampires do, Giles. They go hunting with their families. Give me one good reason why he'd ask them otherwise."

"I...er...so they could run back to you and tell you how scary he was," Giles said defiantly, clearly knowing how ridiculous that sounded.

"Very convincing,"she said, annoyed. "Giles, this is serious."

"I just don't see how this is any cause for alarm. Spike is resilient, we both know that. He won't give up."

"He already gave up," she said flatly. "In the Hellmouth. He gave up."

She should know.

"I thought he died to save the world,"Giles said dryly. And she didn't miss the fact he was repeating her own words back to her.

"He died to protect his family!" she snapped. "Me and Dawn and you and Anya and Willow and Xander. He died because we didn't want him. We didn't want him when he didn't have a soul, and when he went and got one, we still didn't want him."

Giles was quiet, although she knew he was still there.

She could hear him breathing.

"Dawn wouldn't stay in the same room with him, Anya thought he was a wuss, Xander didn't have any time for him, and you tried to kill him. Which is really ironic given all the times we didn't kill him before."

"Buffy..."

"He must have hoped, you know," Buffy said tonelessly. "He hadn't actually succeeded in killing any of us, and we forgave Angel. He must have hoped he'd be coming home. That's why he did it. Got the soul. So he could come home. Except it wasn't enough, was it? He went into the Hellmouth knowing there was no reason to come out. So he didn't."

"Buffy..."

"He was alive and he didn't tell us, Giles. He was here in L.A. for almost a year and he didn't tell us. There was nothing left to offer us. And now he doesn't even have a chip anymore. He doesn't have his soul. And even if he got it back, Angel is still human."

She knew she was telling it wrong.

"Angel is there?"Giles asked, startled. "He's human?"

"Spike's not going to make it, Giles,"she said bleakly. "This is just one time too many to expect him to tape himself back together. Not when he thinks there's nothing left. I can't make myself be in love with him. And I never could lie to him worth a damn. He needs..."

But since when had any of them cared what Spike needed?

Giles was silent. Not hearing, or just not offering.

"Never mind," she said softly.

There was no point in asking.

"Buffy...?"

"I've got to go," she said woodenly.

There was never any point in asking for what she really needed.

"Buffy!"

She was the Slayer.

She wasn't supposed to need anything.

"I'll figure something out," she said, then disconnected the phone.

And stood there as the leading edge of night rolled over the camp, with no idea what she was going to do.


	36. Chapter 36

What she did, was run them hard.

And the demons at their heels? Never had a chance.

A few starving demons tried their luck, and discovered what happened when a Slayer was being driven by demons of her own. She could see the fear in the soldiers' eyes, and smell the sweat as it dripped down grey dust-caked faces, but no one faltered. By dawn, they were over the Wall and had taken temporary refuge in the almost intact remnants of a used bookstore.

Graham was pointing out that their route took them within several blocks of a large complex of box stores when she felt Angel standing behind her. She shouldn't have known it was him, now that he was human. But she did. She froze, her startled inhalation causing Graham to frown momentarily. She stared blankly at the the map spread out before her. Trying to remember what she had been doing.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Okay. Have the trucks sent here..." she picked an alternate rally point closer to the box stores. "I'll have Spike there two hours before sundown."

No one had slept yet. She'd have thought all they'd want to do was crash. But from the hopeful looks that had appeared the minute they saw which map Graham had presented to her, sleep had just taken a backseat to opportunity. Given the situation, she had to agree. Might as well take advantage of the fact they were here.

"Okay. Extra precautions, "she said."I want people looking for signs of anything viral. No plagues, please. Once it looks safe, they can shop 'til they drop. Or 1700. Whichever comes first."

Graham nodded sharply, sparing only the briefest of glances over her shoulder. She watched him gather up the group and herd them outside.

"Looting?" Angel asked, sounding unamused.

She focused her attention on refolding the map. Smoothing the corners. Making sure she hadn't bent it in the wrong direction anywhere.

"I prefer the term scavenging," Buffy said flatly.

Angel stepped around her, pausing when she deliberately moved three steps away from him. For a moment, hurt flashed across his face, and he seemed almost lost. Then his gaze hardened, and he gave the group of people gathering outside the bookstore a disgusted look. "Sounds like looting to me."

"There's stuff we need," she responded calmly. Doing a good impression of calm, anyway.

"Look, Buffy,"Angel said softly," I know how seductive this sort of chaos can be. No rules. No one telling you what you can and can't have. Taking whatever you want. But this...this isn't about survival." He nodded toward the front door. "Listen to them."

"I can hear,"Buffy said evenly.

She could hear them quite well, actually. Talking about diamonds and gold. Chattering about HD-TVs and how many DVD players could fit in a truck. She also knew what would actually make its way into their wheelbarrows and shopping carts would bear no similarity to the current conversation.

"All right, people,"Graham suddenly hollered. "You know the rules. If you don't remember them, ask. Ignorance will not keep the Slayer from kicking your ass or save you from six weeks scrubbing out the desalinization filters under my personal supervision. Got it? Good. Happy scavenging."

And with that, the group broke apart into six-person teams. Half soldier, half slayer. They scattered.

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Rules?" he asked.

Graham came inside just in time to hear the question. "No thieving from apartments that are clearly occupied - by human or demon," he answered absently, making notes in his field journal." No foodstuffs or things that can be used to grow food. No conflict with other scavengers unless it's in self-defense. And you need to bring back three items we can pool and distribute to the people coming to drive us home."

Graham finished his notes, then glanced at Ruarik and grinned. "You bored yet?"

The demon sighed, but followed after Graham without even a protesting grumble in Buffy's direction. Except for two escorts that Ruarik refused to not leave behind, Buffy abruptly found herself completely alone with Angel and an unconscious Spike. Angel seemed a bit bemused by the sudden lack of company.

"You can go with them if you want," Buffy said, still annoyed with him.

Angel peered out the door into the sunlight. "Ruarik are taking orders from human soldiers now?"

"No," Buffy said,"Ruarik is taking orders from me. Graham just happens to have the walkie talkie."

And the Ruarik, not having any personal desire for anything that could be scavenged from human box stores, came in handy with the scavenging for the castle. They could haul two buggies each, tied in convoy, and nothing attacked Ruarik. Nothing sane, anyway. Bast always grinned for two days whenever Buffy sent the Ruarik out with the scavengers.

"Are you angry with me?" Angel demanded suddenly. "That I didn't tell you about Spike. Because that was his choice, not mine."

"Spike's a big vampire,"Buffy said shortly.

"Then why...?" Angel gestured between the two of them, as if to emphasis the space between them. "I mean...I'm human now, Buffy. I thought...I thought you'd be happy," he said, sounding bewildered.

"I am!" she protested. "I'm happy. I'm ecstatic. I'm electro-static Buffy. I just..." she trailed off, eyes going to the unconscious vampire lying safely out of reach of the sunlight.

Angel's expression shifted to disbeleif. "You've got to be joking. Spike? You got the part where he's all soulless again, right?"

She opened her mouth, then realized she didn't have an answer.

Angel reached for her hand, and she yanked it out of reach. Anger flashed in his eyes as he deliberately took a step back.

"Fine," he spat.

"I can't risk having him smell you on my skin right now," she said apologetically. "I don't think he could handle it."

"And that matters to you?" Angel demanded. "Now? I thought..."

"What?" she asked, her initial guilt over her own indecision abruptly disappearing into incredulous anger. " You thought what? That I would just drop whoever was in my life the minute you became human? Is that what you think of me?"

"You did it before,"Angel muttered.

"What?"

Angel hesitated, then avoided her indignant stare. "Nothing."

"I love you, Angel," she said forcefully. "So much it still hurts. But I told you once I didn't think I could trust you, and you know what? Nothing's changed. There's too much at stake for me to just throw myself back into a relationship with you. I don't even know yet if there is a place for you."

"But there is for Spike?" Angel asked indignantly, jabbing a finger in Spike's direction. "You know, he didn't exactly show up either."

"That wasn't his fault,"she said grimly." That was mine."

She saw the moment he believed her. The moment he accepted the truth of what she was saying. She knew it, because he had the same shock, the same disbelieving pain that Spike had shown when he'd hit the barrier of the de-invite spell. The same knowingness, that this time she was serious.

And she saw how much it hurt.

She didn't really know him. Not like she knew Spike. She didn't know what Angel wanted from her. She didn't know what he expected. She didn't even know if they could work together, seeing as how he might still consider this his city. She didn't know anything, really. Most importantly, she didn't know if he'd wait for her. Like he'd said he would.

"He's going to die, Angel," she said softly. Watching as his eyes flew upward to meet hers with confusion. "The chip ripped him apart, and he never got a chance to put himself back together. To find a place he could trust. A place that wanted him."

Angel snorted derisively. "No one wants Spike."

"I want him," she said coldly. Furious with Angel, and the casual power he wielded over Spike. Furious with Spike for being so easy to hurt. And furious with herself, because all the reasons she wanted Spike were selfish ones. "I want him sane. I want him whole. And I want him to be happy."

"Are you in love with him?" Angel demanded.

He read the answer off her face.

"Then he'll never be happy, Buffy."

"Fine. Then he'll be unhappy,"she said. "But I'm not throwing him away. He deserves better."

"He really doesn't, " Angel said grimly.

"How can you even say that?" she demanded.

"He doesn't have a chip anymore, Buffy. What do you think is going to happen?" Angel asked, mouth drawing into grim lines. " You keep thinking you know what we were, but you don't. You never knew..."

Buffy scowled. "Were you always this insulting? I don't have to know who he was, Angel. I need to know who he's become."

"Buffy…"

"I thought I knew," she said bleakly. "After everything - before I knew he had his soul - he said he dreamed of killing me. I reached for a stake, Angel."

"Yeah?" he said, impatiently. "So?"

"So all I heard was a threat," Buffy said. "It never occurred to me that he would do what he did. I mean, it's not like I knew he could even get his soul back. And there were so many ways that statement could have been interpreted. But I only heard a threat. So tell me, did I ever know him?"

"You're the Slayer, Buffy,"Angel said, puzzled. "You had no reason to think it was anything other than a threat. Especially after what he did."

"You're missing the point," she said softly.

Spike had left. The vampire who'd half-convinced her that some part of what he felt might be real. It wasn't love of course, but it was real. And he'd up and left. No apology. No letting her beat the crap out of him. No letting him protect Dawn - which was pretty damn big of her, considering. Although part of her had sort of seen it as a peace offering, too. It wasn't really his fault she'd messed him up by using him. Or that she'd forgotten what he was. Evil. Incapable of real love. Human love. The kind that came from the soul.

He was supposed to have been in that crypt.

Spike didn't ...he didn't leave. That was the one certainty she'd had back then. He was deluded about what he felt, but he still felt it. He wouldn't leave. There'd been no question in her mind he'd be around. That he would be in that crypt, thinking up some way in which what had happened was all her fault. She'd have wagered her sister, her house, Mr. Gordo, and a boatload of kittens on that certainty. He'd be there. Probably drunk and breaking things, but he'd be there. It had never even entered her mind that he'd be gone.

Which only showed how stupid she was, because he'd left both of them, her and Dawn. Without apologizing. Without saying good-bye. He didn't even stop to tell her what a bitch she was on his way out of town. And then, after she'd spent all summer reminding herself how evil he was, that all of it had been a lie, he'd come back and turned her world completely upside down.

Because he wasn't Spike anymore.

The man who had died in the Hellmouth had been a stranger. Part Spike and part someone else. She'd never had much of a chance to know that man. She suspected he'd deserved a lot more than he'd gotten. There just hadn't been time. For anything, really. Not friendship. Not love. But it wasn't the stranger who had fought for his soul.

That had been Spike.

So no, she hadn't known who he was back then. Not at all.

"We're getting his soul back,"Buffy said."After that...we can deal with everything else after that."

"And just how do you plan to get his soul back inside him? Curse him?" Angel asked sceptically. "That spell has a serious drawback if you recall."

"We're hoping since he asked for it the first time, we can find another way."

Angel snorted. "In case you hadn't noticed, our Willie is a bit on the thick side. Has a tendency not to think things through. Do you really think he had any idea what he was getting himself into, going after his soul? And now that he's had a taste of the guilt and the self-loathing, you think he's ever going to agree to go through that again?"

"Is there any answer to that question that won't make your head explode?" Buffy demanded.

Angel scowled for a moment, then his mouth twisted

She nodded, and they both stared at different walls, uncomfortably aware of all the things they suddenly found that they couldn't say.

The silence began to hurt.

"I'm gonna..." Angel pointed awkwardly toward the door.

She nodded in relief. "Yeah. You'll need clothes and stuff."

He nodded shortly and walked into the sunlight and over to Graham.

Buffy stayed in the shadows with Spike.


	37. Chapter 37

_Otherwhen..._

_"You tried to kill my Champion, Brother." Daia tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully."The vision you sent to Angel's Seer was deliberately vague. It is remarkable to me that Angel did not instantly assume Spike was the threat instead of the ghost warrior. Indeed, I do not know why he did not do so. No, you hoped he would kill my Nominate."_

_Rohan looked up from the Delphian Orb, mind focused on his Champion's failure. "And you put mine back in play."_

_Not that it mattered. _

_He wondered if any of it mattered, when a single future rode the horizon._

_Daia sat, crossing one leg over the other and regarded him intently. "The future is set, Brother. Do you begrudge the Slayer a lover in her last days?" Her voice was only slightly mocking, and her eyes were shrewd. _

_"Spike will never be her lover,"Rohan said sharply, distaste at her suggestion overriding caution. Surely not even Daia could believe the Slayer would rush to accept an unsouled, unrepentant corruption of humanity in Angel's place? At least Rohan's champion was possessed of a soul._

_Daia shrugged,"Not for lack of trying," she said dryly. _

_"The Slayer must die to protect the Key," Rohan reminded her. "Had she turned to the human boy as prophesied, he would have abandoned her when she needed him most. Angel would do so as well, if for different reasons. Do you think your Nominate would do the same?"_

_For a moment, Daia looked uncertain._

_Clearly she had not considered that her Nominate might break the only future._

_Although truly, Rohan was not concerned on that count. Regardless of his insinuation, her Nominate did not possess the influence to hold the Slayer to life. And Rohan did not need a mortal Angel to encourage her to leap. Riley Finn would be a most satisfactory substitute for the inconstancy of Alexander Harris. But if Daia thought his concern was with the Slayer's pain, perhaps she would look no further._

_And truthfully, in no potentiality had Angel ever accompanied the Slayer back to the Hellmouth. Rohan had hoped, by doing what he had not done in any potentiality, to see something different. But Daia had chosen for him, and with her interference, time was reversed as foreseen. Sometimes, Rohan wondered if Oracles were as bound by Destiny as the flesh-bound souls they shepherded._

_The Acathlan Prophecy may have written changes into the world, but it was Daia who had chosen Spike for her Nominate. It was a foolish move, given the future Rohan now saw. As yet, he still did not know what Answer she anticipated for the Question, unless she thought Angel capable of it._

_Rohan scowled. "I do not appreciate the inclusion of that...that...uncouth thing into the game." he said darkly. _

_"Impulsive, don't you mean?"she asked mock sweetly. "Unpredictable? Prone to melodramatic gestures."_

_"Your Nominate makes a mockery of love,"Rohan snapped._

_Daia's leg swung gracefully as she contemplated that accusation. Rohan's eyes followed the line of her gently swaying ankle until he recalled himself. _

_"And is your Champion so much better?" she asked seriously. "Such arrogance, your thief of lives. Stealing back the hourglass for billions. Such a cruel disaster, Brother. Even for us."_

_Rohan's aura darkened again. "Why do you bother yourself with this? There is no benefit to be had for your Nominate."_

_"Perhaps it benefits only my desire," she said._

_"You will give them hope," Rohan said softly."Instead of a chance to accept what such a relationship would be like, you will turn back time and take that possibility from them. They will both continue to hope, and grief will come to no conclusion."_

_Daia's aura darkened."Angel deserves the pain."_

_"She does not."_

_Daia leaned back and raised a scornful eyebrow."I feed on pain, Brother. Sometimes you forget that."_

_"And most of it is bitter, is it not?" Rohan pointed out. "Petty aches over petty concerns. You drink of their humanity, and are poisoned by it. Do you not tire of the selfish pain, the pain of entitlement? Even the children no longer amuse as they once did, do they?"_

_A brooding look crept into her eyes."They hurt over silly things."_

_"And force you to do the same,"Rohan said bluntly."I would give you pain, Sister. White hot as it sears them to the bone. Imagine the exquisite agony they would feel as self-knowledge rips their illusions from them, leaving the wounds open to the salt of their tears. True pain, born of love and life and lessons learned, not injured feelings and greedy wants denied. How much sweeter would that taste?"_

_"And in strength do we gain strength,"she quoted sarcastically."Do you tire as well of tainted love, Brother? Do you think my memory as frail as your own? You plan to feed on their love, as I would feed on their pain."_

_"Balanced,"Rohan said simply,"As it ever must be."_

_For a moment, he could see truly that she longed to surrender. To feast on the pain of Champions - it had been long since such opportunity presented itself. Truly, she could grow strong on their grief and anger. To feel such again, to know the honesty of it as it became part of her very being. _

_She had tired of becoming petty._

_But he could see that her decision was made. She would interfere, and time would be turned back upon itself. Nothing had changed and the future was becoming certainty. The forces surrounding the Slayer's death were now set. Nor could another Slayer be sacrificed instead. There was simply no time for such plans to be set in motion. The lives of all involved were too intertwined at too many places to allow one path to be unraveled without unraveling the others. _

_No, the sacrifice had to be - would be - Buffy Summers._

_This could not be changed_

_The Slayer would die; a willing sacrifice to Balance the downfall of a god. That had been written almost from the Beginning, a fitting turning point for the End. He wondered what future she would write instead. It was all unwritten now. Of course, the future in its myriad of details had always been uncertain. But it had never been unwritten._

_How odd, that he must break the Balance-now, to save the Balance-when._

_Assuming he didn't destroy it altogether._


	38. Chapter 38

"...looks like there was time to try and patch up the water mains, but the pipes are dry."

Buffy grimaced.

"And no sign of human remains?" she asked, hoping the walkie talkie didn't transmit her yawn. She was still a bit groggy from her nap.

"Nothing significant," Graham replied.

He didn't bother to state the obvious. That there should have been bodies. This section of the city was almost all apartments and condos and even if the demons had eaten them all, there should have been bones. Lots of them. Satellite photos had shown plenty of human activity up to the point where the Hellmouth opened.

Some chaos due to the initial demon attacks had occurred, and then nothing. No mass exodus. No scenes of people running in the streets. No bodies in the streets. Then two weeks later, the people seemed to have just disappeared. Stranger still, the demons had not moved in.

"Whatever happened, happened fast. There's food on the tables. Hand-washed laundry in the bathrooms. Solid barricades in the lobby doors. These people had a chance to react to the demons, but whatever took them out, it wasn't viral, and it wasn't your average demon."

Thankfully, the dead zone hadn't shown any signs of expanding.

"So are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Graham asked, sounding hopeful.

"That whatever ate these people is squished under the Wall?"Buffy asked faux-lightly. "Here's hoping."

Graham disconnected after telling her he would update Colonel Bast.

Buffy debated the wisedom of leaving Spike for a couple hours in order to do a quick patrol. Most of the dead zone had been part of Y'sa's territory, but given that whatever happened took place after the Hellmouth opened, but before before the Wall, she didn't think the demon-lord was responsible.

At least, not as part of some revenge thing.

"That's a lot of missing people," Angel said quietly from behind her. He had returned within an hour of leaving, a small backpack thrown over one shoulder. "It's everywhere? Not just here?"

"A big chunk of this part of the city," she told him. "Do you know anything that could eat that many people? Without causing mass panic?"

Some odd expression flashed briefly in his eyes, and he seemed thoughtful. Caught by the expression, Buffy waited expectantly.

"Not in two weeks,"Angel said finally.

Buffy hesitated, certain there was more he wasn't telling her. Not that there was anything unusual about that. Nothing at all. Impatiently she grabbed her sword and gestured curtly for the nearest Ruarik to stay with Angel and Spike. She headed for the door, her other Ruarik abandoning his post by the window to follow her.

"You know what?" she said."When you decide to tell me whatever it is you just decided not to tell me, let me know."

"Buffy..." Angel protested.

She turned at the door and looked at him expressionlessly.

"Not everything is about you," Angel said grimly.

Buffy's hand tightened on her sword."This demon you considered briefly, could it do what happened here?"

"Well, not that many..." Angel started. "At least, I don't think..."

"And you decided not to mention it because...? The story behind it is none of my business? It has things in it you don't want to share? Things you don't want to bring up with me?"

Angel was silent.

"You're right," she said sarcastically. "It's not about me at all."

Angel looked startled, but he didn't say anything further. She realized there was something she needed to understand about what had just happened, but she had patrolling to do. She'd have to think about it later. When there weren't people whose lives depended on her maybe possibly having some sort of clue about what she might be facing out there.

"Just...take care of Spike,"she said curtly. Stalking out into the sunshine, where he could finally follow. If he wanted. If there weren't other things...other people...holding him back.

Like Graham, she found some evidence that people'd had time to react to the demon invasion and then poof. Gone. The apartment buildings were just abandoned, furniture piled in front of building entrances. Proof that people had time to organize some form of resistance.

Inside the apartments, dishes sat in sinks with dried soap scum on them. Plates of petrified food sat on the tables. Guttered candles had hardened into pools of melted wax. More disturbing, was what was missing. In spite of the plates on the tables and the pet food in bowls, none of it had grown mold or attracted insects. Plus, many of the apartments had been locked from the inside. When she kicked in the doors, they still had security chains attached.

"You know..." she told her escort,"if this was a horror movie, we'd be in trouble right about now."

The Ruarik blinked, and grunted uneasily.

She decided to take that as agreement.

Scavengers were reporting the same all over. Given that it was obvious a plague wasn't involved, Buffy reluctantly gave the okay to take stuff home. The utter stillness of the city streets made the action seem even more ghoulish than normal, but they needed to be practical.

She ducked into a few stores, gathering things for Spike. Some jeans, a couple shirts, socks, and a good pair of boots were stuffed into a sturdy red and black backpack she liberated from a sporting goods store. She threw in an empty journal, some pens, and a couple books of poetry. A toothbrush, and a comb went in one pocket, knives went in another. A nice crossbow and a quiver of metal-tipped wooden bolts was lashed to the top of the pack with bungee cords.

She could almost have been packing for herself. If she swapped the comb for a hairbrush and added some underwear. Plus, her boots? So would have a different heel. But still, it was an odd thing to realize. She frowned at the pack unhappily, wanting somehow to personalize it. Add something that would tell him she'd at least put some thought into her choices. She recalled that she had passed an art supply store a few blocks from the bookstore.

Sketchbooks were easy enough to choose, but she dithered for a full fifteen minutes over the pencils. Finally, exasperated, she grabbed two sets, a box of watercolor pencils, some black charcoal sticks, and the same type of erasers Dawn had insisted on having, a million years ago. Of course, the watercolor pencils meant she then needed to find a book of watercolor paper. And some brushes.

The pack and two plastic bags were full by the time she was done.

Angel met her at the door of the bookstore, his face concerned. She looked past him to see that Spike had been taped into his sleeping bag and the second of her Ruarik escort was already slinging him up and onto one massive shoulder.

"Let's go," she said.

And they went.


	39. Chapter 39

"Are you insane," she demanded, striding into the rally point.

Graham spun around and grinned. Patting the fork-lift and the pallet piled high with long narrow boxes. "Mountain bikes," he said proudly.

"Uh-huh," she said. "When did the museum swap places with Wal-Mart?"

Graham's mouth turned down at the edges. "We're going to need climbing gear and hydralic jacks."

Buffy just blinked. The satelitte photos had looked fine. "Riot?" she asked, almost hopefully. At least a riot would have meant people.

Graham shook his head. " Looks like fire, maybe a couple of small gas explosions. The sprinklers were working, so the outer shell is intact, but everything inside is either burned or soaked. There's no mold, oddly enough. We got the curator of the New York Museum of Art on the sat-phone and I thought he was going to cry."

Buffy doubted that Graham had been that far behind him.

He smiled painfully. "We got a few things from a couple of the displays of the second floor, but..."

Buffy waited a bit uncomfortably, not sure how to comfort him. "I could kill a couple demons for you, " she offered perkily. Then reconsidered how that might sound to the Ruarik. "You know, when we find some that aren't friendly."

He almost managed a smile. "I keep telling myself it's not that important in the general scheme of things."

"It's important," she said firmly.

Graham smiled grimly."But hey...mountain bikes..."

"And a fork-lift," she added, eyeing the fork-lift the boxed and unassembled bikes were packed on. "Jensen is going to kill you."

Graham shrugged. "What's a little more bio-diesal among friends?"

Buffy privately decided she wasn't going to be the one to break the news. Theoretically, they could park the thing once the existing tank went dry. In reality, people were going to want to use it. A fork-lift would really come in handy right about now what with all the renovating they were doing. Jensen was just going to have to find a few extra gallons.

"What's with all the last minute?" she asked, regarding the chaos surrounding them suspiciously.

Graham glanced over at the trucks where drivers were hurriedly taking inventory and slapping stickers on bags and boxes as they were loaded into the vehicles. "Whatever happened here, there wasn't much chance for looting. Most of the shelves are untouched." Graham eyed her cautiously. " After everyone got at least two loads in I sent them out for solar panels and medical supplies."

Buffy hesitated, then nodded. It was a reasonable exception to the rule. It wasn't like there were any survivors who needed the stuff.

Peripherally, she was aware of Angel standing curiously at her shoulder, while the Ruarik carrying Spike got him settled out of the sun, inside the transport designated for the Ruarik demons. She had no problems with that. She usually rode back to the castle with the Ruarik anyway.

"I'm thinking we should bring back more people tomorrow," Graham added. "You know it's going to be an issue."

Buffy sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, knowing he was right. Plus, if they didn't do it officially, someone was going to try it on downtime. That was partly why the official scavenging parties had been started in the first place.

"Yeah, okay," she said finally.

With the better part of five hundred people, they could probably clear the sector of anything useful in about two weeks. The only downside, was that it was going to take the better part of two weeks.

"I'll see if I can locate the gas stations," Graham added."Maybe we can tap local sources for our diesel."

Something else they had avoided doing, when there were survivors in the area. But yeah, also a good idea. Before she could add anything to the statement, the most agonized scream she'd ever heard from a man's throat pierced the air. She and Angel were both moving before Graham turned his head.

She got there first.

Instinct had her wading into the soldiers pointing guns at the Ruarik currently holding a medic off her feet and shaking her by the scruff of her neck. Angel passed her with a snarl and vaulted into the truck. She heard another agonized scream, and Angel came flying back out of the truck, blood dripping from his face and unconscious when he hit the ground.

"Hold your fire!"she yelled."Hold your fire!"

Then she vaulted into the truck herself.

She couldn't see him at first. The front of the truck was stuffed with backpacks and boxes. He'd buried himself as deep into them as he could, and two Ruarik were planted in front of him, their massive legs hiding him from view. They eased aside when she approached, and she knelt cautiously to crawl past them.

"Buffy?" Graham barked.

"Check on the medic,"she called back, eyes intent on the panting whine she could hear in front of her, buried under all the boxes. "Spike may have hit her before the Ruarik grabbed her."

"You need any help?"

"Don't let anyone in the truck," she said curtly. Then eased herself up next to Spike. She could feel the pile around them shudder as the Ruarik removed several of the boxes without asking. He was curled into the smallest ball he could manage, and his body was shaking.

"Buffy?" Angel asked, sounding woozy.

"Stay back, Angel," she ordered."You'll only hurt him."

There was a momentary silence. She could hear Graham in the background, soothing the medic. She heard a bewildered," But I only touched him."

"What happened?" Angel asked sharply.

"You have a soul," she said bluntly. Not certain about the whys, but absolutely positive about the what. The last time Spike had convulsed had been when they'd tried to hand him off to the slayers to carry. At the time, they'd assumed it was the heat. And only Ruarik had carried him since.

"Er...so do you,"Angel pointed out. There was a pause. "Don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Angel. I have a soul."

Spike didn't react when she touched him. Not to get closer, and not to push her away. She sighed, trying to think of a way to explain the unexplainable. "People are...noisy," she said finally. "Everything they feel is bright. Jagged."

The truck jostled slightly, and she heard Angel ease down onto one of the furthest seats. The Ruarik rumbled throatily, but didn't move to attack. They shifted though, and from where she was lying, she could just see Graham as he leaned against the tailgate next to Angel. He made no move to climb inside and she wasn't sure if that was obeying her orders, or staying visible so the soldiers didn't freak.

"Heaven is different," she told them. Inadequately. But there were just no words. "There are no...edges. There are no walls of flesh and bone. When I came back, it hurt. All the time. Until I learned to remember the edges."

Angel didn't say anything. Just sat there, uneasy discomfort on his face. The same look everyone got, when she mentioned Heaven. His gaze moved to the hand he could see touching Spike. She held it up and studied it for a moment.

"Flesh is just a cage for the soul," she explained.

No great mystery to it. She'd hurt, until she'd learned to keep herself inside the edges. Until she stopped bumping into the souls around her. Souls that didn't even know they were screaming at her, pulling at her. Ripping holes in her substance, and pouring in their pain.

"So why can you touch him?" Angel asked quietly.

"I stay within my edges."

It wasn't the exact situation had happened to her, what had happened to Spike. She'd given up the Slayer when she died. Whatever demon essence that made her what she was had no place in Heaven. But it hadn't hurt, losing that part of herself. She'd known it was meant to be.

Until Willow had taken two separate halves and shoved them back together.

"His soul isn't gone," she said quietly," It's missing."

Ripped out of him.

"Did it bother you,"she asked musingly,"that he never really seemed all that different, after the soul? Once he put himself back together."

Pain, and something else, flashed across Angel's face.

"We are what we need," she said.

She'd had plenty of time to think about it after Sunnydale.

Angel had a fascination with innocence and its corruption. The original sin and the fall from grace. Petite, blond-haired, blue-eyed Darla - had Angel really thought she'd miss the resemblance? They were the cartoon angels duking it out on his shoulders. Supporting actors in his epic battle with redemption.

As for Spike, who'd wanted to be her knight in black leather, he was Galahad in a demon's body. The man who threw himself at the feet of his Queen. She'd blame his mother and all those tales she had no doubt read to him when he was a boy. Titania, Gueniviere, and the Knights of the Round Table.

"So what do you need," Angel demanded curtly, clearly not liking where her conclusions had been drawn.

She smiled mirthlessly. "I need to save the world."


	40. Chapter 40

"So where's your vampire?"

Buffy blinked, barely even halfway into her seat. Bast's voice had been non-committal, while the eyes of those around the table ranged from curious to seriously concerned.

"Chained to my bed," she replied evenly. Waiting a beat, just to let them suffer. "The blankets all have my scent on them, so we're hoping he won't panic if he comes to while I'm gone."

"What happens if he panics?"Major Carring asked warily.

Buffy gave him a direct look. "He hurts himself."

"He can't get loose?" someone asked from down the table.

Buffy shook her head. "The chains are sturdy. I couldn't break them. And there are two Ruarik with him. He's not going anywhere."

"He won't be concerned that he's your prisoner?" Jensen asked.

"Not if he's in my bed,"Buffy said deliberately. Refusing to blush. And refusing to lie about the nature of her relationship with Spike.

Not anymore.

There were startled looks around the room. People who must have been living an a black hole if they hadn't heard the rumors. That, or they had ignored them as the normal sort of gossip that made the rounds. Maybe they were just surprised she didn't try to hide it.

"Just to put it on the table,"Bast said carefully. "What do we do if he does get loose?"

"Don't approach him," Buffy said flatly. "He'll probably be looking for me, so call me. Don't try to lead him anywhere if you can help it, and even if he looks like a threat, don't interfere when he finds me. Let me deal with him. If he won't stay put, follow at a safe distance and direct me to him. Don't call for slayer back-up. If he hears you, he'll think you're a threat. Your best bet will always be to get me on the walkie-talkie so I can talk to him. But don't get close enough to him to hand it to him. Put it on the ground and back away."

"And if there's no choice but to take him down?"

"It should never get to that point," Buffy said bluntly. "If it does, shoot for the legs. Pain doesn't stop a vampire, especially a vampire like Spike. Take out the kneecaps or break the bones in the leg. Center of mass will just piss him off."

"How about point blank to the head," she head someone mutter.

"The last thing you want is a lobotomized vampire running on pain and instinct. If he's that close,"Buffy told him,"you're already dead. He'll grab your wrist before you can aim. And he moves too fast for the head to be a target. If he gets a hold of you- which, frankly, bad idea - but if he does, you might get your pistol out of your holster long enough to bend your wrist and pull the trigger. Hopefully, you'll hit something load bearing."

"Jesus Christ," Carring muttered."Are they all like that?"

Buffy shrugged."Pretty much."

She supposed they didn't need to know how much faster Spike was than the average vamp. Nor that he was stronger. They were scared enough already. And even on a fledgling, a head shot was a bad idea. It was why she kept telling them not to rely on guns. Tazers needed to be charged, handguns put them too close, and a sniper rifle would only let them take out one target before the others scattered. So really, what was the point?

A slayer was a much better weapon.

Bast nodded slowly. "Okay. He's your responsibility. We'll pass the rules along. Miller? What's the report on the dead zone?"

Then his expression altered.

"Did we run out of chairs, Lieutenant?"

Buffy twisted to find Graham standing behind her. He blinked. "Sir? No, Sir. I'm good."

"Proceed, Lieutenant,"Bast said dryly. Leaving Buffy with the feeling that she'd missed something.

"Yes, Sir. I'd like to take three survey teams into the Dead Zone to identify areas of opportunity, estimate transport requirements, and get one of the apartment buildings ready for accomodation."

Bast pinched the bridge of his nose. "You want the PGS workcamp teams, don't you?"

Graham nodded. "Yes, Sir. They're already prepped to go, and it's almost the same parameters. I've identified five truck stops within the area, large enough to have large diesel reserves. We may even find trucks. If we can use civilian transport, we can keep ours running out to the PGS."

Bast grimaced, but nodded for him to continue.

" Secondary targets include two museums, stores specializing in hydroponic and solar powered equipment, a few bike shops, and multiple box and building supply stores selling garden supplies. At least two of the specialty stores advertized windmills, but it looks like they may have ordered in custom, rather than carried stock. We'll have to see."

"What about personal scavenging?"Carring asked. "I'm already getting requests."

"If we do a two-day layover for each team as they go in,"Graham said," we can use the first day to move stuff for the castle. Then do any personal scavenging on day two."

"And keeping it fair?"Jensen asked. "How do we do that?"

"Except for the survey teams, we take them in by lottery rotation. We can't keep teams from scavenging where they want, but most people tend to stay near the trucks. If we identify truck locations ahead of time, and assign them on a random basis, it should keep any one area from getting too picked over." Graham said easily. "If we can get transport trucks rolling, I'd also like to reccomend we bring back as many building supplies as we can manage. Drywall, interior lumber, and paints, primarily. Make it available on an as needed basis."

"What's the status on the Apartment Project?" Bast asked Captain Markeson.

Markeson looked startled. "Unchanged. The lottery is done, and the paperwork has all been processed. There just hasn't been enough time for them to do more than clear debris. Most of the furniture had to go to the PGS. It was pretty disgusting."

He left out the reasons, since everybody knew them. Blood. Gore. Various body fluids. Factor in the blood-soaked carpets and bullet-riddled walls, and most of the apartments in the Inner Corridor were lacking in 'Home Sweet Home' appeal. Although now that most of the wreakage had gone to become plasma, the buildings were starting to smell better.

"Okay,"Bast said, nodding decisively. "Miller, tell them to slap a sticky on whatever basic furniture they need and call in description and location. We'll tag it for pick-up by the next team in. Might as well take advantage of all those semi-trailers while we've got them."

Everybody nodded.

Bast looked up. "Buffy? As soon as your vampire is capable of it, I want you to take him around to the apartment buildings. Make sure the vampire barriers are in place before we start painting any doors green."

She nodded, agreeing with the idea.

The Apartment Project had grown out of the need to capitalize on every advantage they could get against the hordes of vampires preying on the humans inside and outside of the Corridors. The military had appropriated the buildings around the castle, and had assigned apartments by lottery. The idea had been two-fold. One, give all the soldiers and slayers something to fight for – the ownership was legal and backed by the government. Two, provide places of safety where vampires couldn't go.

"Good,"Bast said." Tell everyone we'll have the schedules for the scavenging parties posted by breakfast. Lieutenant? See me before you go. Dismissed."

Buffy stood, stepping past Graham, mind already jumping ahead to arranging regular blood donations for Spike. She'd have to talk to the Infirmary. She was about to leave the room when she saw Ruarik looking past her shoulder, expressionless as he watched Graham approach Colonel Bast.

She gave them a thoughtful look, then put it out of her mind.

She had other things to worry about.


	41. Chapter 41

_Otherwhen..._

_**Drusilla swayed to the music of the stars, trailing her darling boy into a room filled with power. Truly, she could feast upon it, and the silly child the Master had brought into being felt it not. She would feast and dance and plant the seeds of his destruction.**_

_**And then the stars began to bleed. Drusilla trembled as the air whispered the Slayer's name. It was dark and cold where she was and there was only one reason the stars would blind her eyes to the future...**_

_Rohan passed his hand over the Orb, trapping the threads of yesterwhen. They coiled restlessly as he examined them for answers. This, he decided, was not the moment the future had shifted. It was however, a pivot point. A minor nexus of change. This was the moment Drusilla had placed Spike in the path of the Slayer._

_**"Kill her for me, Spike. Kill her for Princess?"**_

_Given her physical condition, Spike's concern for his Sire would have left him cautious. Blindness in a Seer had but one cause. By Unseen decree, Seers could not see their own deaths. Drusilla had known this, and chosen to act on the threat. She'd set her dog upon the scent and brought him into play._

_This had all been written._

_Where then was the moment that had not? What choice had been made that altered the very fabric of the End of Days? Rohan released the threads of possibility._

_**Spike watched as the Slayer danced... **_

_No. _

_**"Do we really need weapons for this?" **_

_No._

_Although he wondered what had prompted such a seemingly foolish decision. Not on her part - that was a simple calculation. She'd been too inexperienced with weapons to beat Spike on his own terms. Instead, she'd led him to a place where her strength matched his own. _

_Rohan was wondering why Spike had accepted. _

_He'd thought before he threw his weapon away. He'd made a deliberate choice to face her unarmed. And it wasn't a flirtation with honor or the possibility of death that drove him. Not with Drusilla left at the factory, weakened and alone._

_So why?_

_Rohan noted that Spike had held his final blow for a critical second. Not a hesitation, Rohan judged. Nor a chance for her to escape. More a desire for the Slayer to know who was killing her. Telling perhaps, when the human male he'd killed earlier hadn't even known he was about to die. And Spike had been focused on her to the point he didn't sense the Slayer's mother behind him. _

_And yet, surely this only proved his viciousness, a sullen hatred for the Slayer?_

_**"Honey, I'm home..."**_

_No._

_This was futile. A bare handful of moments like this, violent interaction that held no clue as to the moment between certainty and possibility when the future had changed. _

_Why had the Slayer spared Drusilla? _

_**...the vampires were feeding. **_

_**People were dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Even if she killed them all, there was still Spike. Well-fed and in a confined space that offered him all the advantage, how...?**_

_**Drusilla.**_

_**She didn't question the fact she knew she could use her against him. Buffy simply grabbed the other woman and held a stake to her heart. **_

_**"Spike!"**_

_Rohan felt the Slayer's anger. Her fury at Ford's betrayal and her unwilling compassion. He felt her unease with how Angel had to be forced into revealing Drusilla's identity, and her confusion that Angel had left Drusilla alive to feed and to heal. He even felt the hurt she refused to acknowledge, that Angel did not seem to want the other vampires dead, not even after they had tried to kill her. _

_Rohan felt the moment she realized she could not trust Angel's priorities._

_He felt Drusilla's knowledge that this was the moment she had not seen. Her dark eyes were filled with fear as she looked at Spike and Rohan felt her realize that this was the moment she would die the final death. Fall into the eternal damnation of her childhood, lost far beyond the reaches of the stars._

_He felt Spike's muscles gather for one mad, reckless charge..._

_This was the moment Drusilla had not seen. This was the moment of her death and yet she lived. This was the moment that should have placed Spike on the path of vengeance, yet instead, brought him to a certainty unwritten. And yet, there was nothing. No great change. No grand confrontation. No life-altering conflict to explain the unexplainable. _

_Perhaps then, what Rohan looked for, lay not in what had happened, but in the moments between. Rohan considered this and turned once more to the Orb, looking for answers._

_**Spike watched as the Slayer danced... **_


	42. Chapter 42

"So...slayers are a sort of living vampire. That makes a weird sort of sense."

Buffy turned her head to find Angel eyeing her sympathetically. She could still hear the new slayers arguing in the conference room down the hall. Ruarik had sidled as far away from the Dawn-worthy dramatics as it was possible for a large demon to go and still keep his unflappable bodyguard status unblemished.

"You heard?"

He snorted. "The better question might be who didn't."

"They didn't take it well."

Angel slid down the wall to sit next to her, shoving the pack that held Spike's blood to one side. "How'd you take it?"

"The first time I thought I might be a demon?" she asked. "Spike and I knocked a building down."

Angle blinked."Some fight."

She gave him a significant look it took him several seconds to interpret.

"Oh," was all he said.

"It was an old building," she mumbled.

Angel frowned."How'd he get around the chip?"

"He didn't,"she said. "He discovered he could hit me without his brain exploding. Figured I came back less than human, and I beleived him. We found out later it was nothing. But for a while there, I really thought I was a demon or a zombie or something."

Angel was giving her a thoughtful look. "So he could hit you."

"Yep."

"And presumably bite you."

"Yep."

"And the first thing you did was...?"

"I took what I wanted," she said tiredly. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "For once."

For a moment, an image hung in memory. The shock and disbeleif in Spike's eyes as he'd looked into hers. Angel seemed to still, and his eyes were still thoughtful as he looked at her. Actually seeing her. For once.

"You wanted Spike?" he asked softly. Almost tentatively.

She frowned at him, puzzled. It wasn't like Angel didn't know they'd been sleeping together.

"I've always wanted Spike,"she said, forcing herself to be honest."I may not have loved him, or respected him, or hey...even liked him. But I always wanted him. I just thought he made me angry. A lot."

She sighed for her teenage ignorance. And Spike's. Things might have worked out better for him if he'd realized she honestly hadn't recognized some of what she was feeling. Stupid vampire, following his nose. Then again, his blatant carnality had intimidated her, so maybe he'd known exactly what he was doing after all.

"Compared to you, Spike seemed so..."

Icky.

That had been the word.

"Vibrant?" Angel murmured. "Passionate?" Then he sighed. "Emotionally available?"

"Crude,"she retorted. "Crass. Lewd."

Angel arched one eyebrow sceptically. "Confident? Cocky? Seductive?"

She snorted. "Over-confident. Cock-sure. And an amoral tomcat on the prowl."

Angel twisted to face her, one shoulder pressed to the wall. "Did it make you want to follow him into a dark alley?"

She started to ask whether he meant to stake Spike, or let Spike stake her. Lewdly and figuratively speaking. Then the sense of what he was saying hit her. "You're saying it was an act?"

Angel frowned. "I'm saying it was a skill. One he spent more than a hundred years perfecting. You know a better way to get a normally cautious girl to follow you into the shadows?"

Buffy started to answer, then stopped."Okay...I'm confused. Is this you defending him?"

Angel sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. Did I ever tell you I got turned into a puppet?"

Buffy blinked. "Way with the one-eighty. How...?"

"Demons."

"Why...?"

"They were sucking the life force from children."

"What...?"

Angel sighed again. "Adorable, according to Fred."

Buffy nodded sagely.

"The thing is, I sort of threw a puppet tantrum and attacked Spike. Not that there was anything unusual about that, but this time he let me win."

"Really."

"That, and he was laughing too hard too see my fist heading for his face,"Angel said gloomily. "But once I put him down he stayed down. He knew I couldn't afford to look weak at Wolfram and Hart. And a puppet? Not so much with the dignity."

Buffy waited, but there didn't seem to be anymore to the story. But just as she was about to ask a question, Angel grimaced.

"You weren't the only one to lose someone, when Y'sa stole his soul,"Angel said in a low voice. "I lost someone too."

And she wasn't sure she wanted to ask him for a definition. But there was something he needed to know.

"Maybe,"she said."But it's different for me."

Angel flinched, just a little. "Because you're in love with him?"

"Because I also got someone back."


	43. Chapter 43

"Is it safe to visit?"

Buffy glanced up from her position on the sofa, more rather than less pleased by the interruption. In spite of her conversation with Angel, she wasn't in the mood to be alone. To be alone was to dwell. Dwelling was bad. Dwelling led to guilt and other badness that pretty much went by the name of Black Funk of Despair.

_I got someone back._

She hadn't meant to say that.

Graham was carrying a battery operated lantern, and the sickly blue-white light made him look like a ghoul. She could see his eyes flick toward her open bedroom door and she wondered if Spike had been Colonel Bast's topic of conversation. Was Graham now some undercover assassin for rankly vampires? God she hoped not. She really needed someone she could trust right now.

No. She wanted that someone back.

"Bast wants me in command when the survey team goes into the Dead Zone," Graham said. "Best guess - we're going to be clearing the Zone for two months, maybe longer."

She arched an eyebrow. "Congratulations?"

He shrugged, which didn't tell her anything.

"Not really getting a word picture here, Graham,"she said dryly. "It might help if you used actual words."

Graham gave her an assessing look that told her nothing about his thoughts.

She'd recently come to the conclusion there was a whole lot she didn't know about Graham's thoughts. She knew she'd been trusting him in ways that didn't make sense to her. He wasn't family. He wasn't in love with her. He seemed to like her well enough, but he wasn't her friend. She couldn't even convince herself he was helping her for Riley's sake because - when it got right down to it - she didn't think he was Riley's friend either.

She really didn't understand him.

And she didn't much like that she didn't understand him.

She hadn't had the nerve to ask him about it yet. She _liked_ feeling she had someone she could trust to carry out her decisions. She told him what to do, and he did it. No questioning her motives. No hurt feelings or wounded ego. If she told him it was too risky for him to do something, he trusted she knew what she was talking about.

He didn't sulk about how she made him feel like less of a man.

He didn't rush out and almost get himself killed trying to prove she was wrong.

He didn't blame her, when he got hurt.

"I only need the survey team for a couple weeks. After that, Bast wants them out to the PGS as soon as they get back. The Colonel agrees with you, by-the-way. Much as he'd like to get the refugees inside the Corridors, there's too many of them. If they ever rioted, we'd be screwed."

Not to mention, forty-thousand refugees could never hope to reclaim what was left of the city. They needed the other survivors. The half-million or so stuck outside the Wall. They weren't going to get them, though, if they couldn't feed them. Nor did Buffy want to dwell too hard on Ruarik's little bombshell about the demons using humans as hosts. She had a sudden image of half a million humans exploding from the inside, expelling one or more hungry baby demons.

That would be bad.

It would be apocalyptically bad if they overran the human defenses surrounding L.A. County. God only knew how fast parasitic demons could multiply once they hit the all-you-could-impregnate population centers. Not that she'd be in a position to care. She had the sinking feeling the Pentagon would nuke L.A. if the defenses started to fall. That would just plain suck all the way around.

"Okay, "Buffy acknowledged. "I get that. What's that have to do with me?"

And Spike, given how Graham kept glancing at the bedroom door.

"Bast wanted to put you in command of the PGS survey."

Buffy still didn't get the point. Well, she got the point about putting her in command, that made sense. So close to the Wall, the area around the plasma generating station could be crawling with demons. Most of her slayers were scheduled elsewhere, so it made sense to send her in with the all-human team. So why would...

Oh.

"Spike," she said quietly.

"Ri's got the patrols,"Graham explained. "That pretty much leaves Major Carring for PGS command if you can't go."

Buffy frowned, thinking she should have remembered that.

When the promotions were over - after everybody realized their little excursion had turned into an occupation - Carring had become the Colonel's second-in-command of the Army side of things. Carring was good at his job, but he was first and foremost, a combat engineer. He wanted to _fix_ things.

"That's a really bad idea, Graham."

Graham didn't say anything, but that didn't surprise her. The Army had all these little rules about saying things that were detrimental to command. The thing was, sometimes those things needed saying. Apparently, it was supposed to go without saying who was allowed to say what to whom. And when. And for what reason.

She was still figuring all that out.

Buffy scowled. "I don't have anybody he'll listen to."

Sara was taking the _tiend_ and a group of slayers back to the Wilderness the following week and she was the only one Buffy trusted enough to send into demon country when she _didn't _want to start a war. Fact was, Buffy was long on aggression and short on diplomats. Slayer Inc. hadn't expected to occupy a city either.

"That's why we're still putting you in charge,"Graham said with a sudden grin. He held up a video camera link similar to the one Maggie had given Buffy when she'd tried to kill her.

Buffy had no fond memories of the woman, but the equipment had been nice.

"Where should we set up?" Graham asked.

"Set up what?" she asked blankly.

His grin widened. "The computer monitors."


	44. Chapter 44

_Otherwhen..._

_It was done._

_Rohan fixed his eyes on the Orb with morbid fascination as the threads of yesterwhen began to splinter and split off. He heard his sister cry out as possibility reinvented itself. She turned toward him._

_"What have you done?" she demanded, eyes wide with horror. "You fool! What have you done?"_

_Already he could feel the fabric of reality bending to reshape itself, the Physical Universe trembling as entropy collapsed to a single point and then violently expanded. _

_"It was not difficult,"he said softly, potentiality exploding across his senses. He sensed the massed river of energy rush toward them. _

_"What have you done?" Daia whispered._

_Looping possibility back onto itself - as they had done for Angel - was a simple trick. A shifting of energy into paths that already existed as possibility and still existed in the yesterwhen. It took no more effort than moving a boat from one current to another. _

_Not so, what he had done._

_To split potentiality required a nexus. A dam, of sorts. A place in the Universe where possibility and probability could meet. It required a decision. Like the decision he had made to aid the witch. It required a choice. Like the choice he had made when he placed the last Urn of Osiris in her path._

_Oracles did not make choices._

_They did not foster change._

_Oracles were supposed to watch. To guide. To interfere if need be, but only within the rules laid out by prophecy and the choices of others. To do otherwise would weave them into the fabric itself, the nexus of decision fixing them to a single point in time and space, leaving them vulnerable to the forces of certainty._

_Rohan looked at the massed inertia of a single future bearing down on them and closed his eyes._


	45. Chapter 45

"Do you want me to look for some furniture?" Graham asked, looking around her otherwise bare living room.

"Hmmm? What?" Buffy asked, dragging her attention away from the new holes in her apartment walls and the computer technicians running bright blue cable hither and yon.

"Furniture," Graham said encouragingly.

Buffy shrugged. "I don't need anything. "

"I could get you a bedroom set for the spare bedroom," Graham persisted.

She was surprised he made no mention of the third bedroom, especially since it was unoccupied. She supposed he'd drawn the right conclusions from the heavy curtains on the windows. If - when - Spike woke up, she wanted him to know he had a place with her, even if...

"I'm turning it into a meditation room," she admitted.

Wondering for a moment if he'd laugh.

She had her mat, and her candles, and plenty of pots for the plants. She wanted lots of plants. She wasn't a witch - didn't want to be a witch - but she'd done the 'pull back the curtain' thingie that everyone had said would be so hard. She'd wondered if there were other aspects to her power she could explore, now that she could focus properly.

Graham, however, seemed stuck on the fact she wouldn't let him get her stuff.

It wasn't like she needed much. She'd learned that, after Sunnydale. She'd learned a lot of different things, after Sunnydale. Mostly, after the initial euphoria wore off, she'd been tired. So tired that nothing really made sense for a while. She remembered telling herself she was happy for Spike. Vindicated by the chance she had taken.

He hadn't let her down.

She could have ripped the amulet from his neck and made his survival her decision. But in the moment when she'd known he'd chosen to die it had seemed right. In that moment, all she had seen was what he'd become...and what he could lose. Spike wasn't Angel. He wasn't the kind to go chasing after redemption. When death found him - stupid normal death - there were no guarantees he'd ever have another shot at Heaven.

The others thought she'd been consoling herself when she told them he'd died a Champion. They didn't understand it had been the only gift she could give him. He'd wanted so desperately to be loved. Heaven could do that. Maybe she didn't love him enough to be in love with him, but she loved him enough to let him go.

Until 19 days later when a Seer screamed, and she'd known she'd made a terrible mistake.

"Spike could use some more clothes," she said quietly "Jeans. T-shirts. That sort of thing."

Graham didn't even look surprised when she rattled off Spike's measurements, which earned him brownie points. He didn't _seem_ to resent being asked to get things for a vampire, but what did she know? She didn't have a good track record with that sort of thing.

"Maybe some art supplies?" she asked cautiously.

Graham didn't blink. "Paints?" he asked.

Buffy shrugged. Art classes at Hemery had been two lifetimes ago. Maybe three, depending on how she looked at it. " He was born in 1850. They got taught how to do watercolors and stuff back then, didn't they?"

"18...1850?" Graham stuttered, losing control of his pen.

Buffy caught it before it could hit the floor and frowned. "I told you he was older than 50."

"You didn't say he was over 150 years old!"

Buffy crossed her arms defensively. "That's not that old."

"Not that..."Graham started to echo, looking like she'd hit him with a baseball bat. "He's over a hundred and fifty years old!"

"You said that already," she muttered. Really, what was the big deal? Older than twenty as a vampire, blah, blah. Should have been dead, blah blah. "We covered this already."

"Yeah," Graham protested."But you never said he was...Christ!"

Buffy hated feeling like an idiot. Lack of understanding usually led to copious amounts of being dead. On the other hand, she wasn't certain she wanted to understand the look on Graham's face either. Bad enough that she had stumbled through her relationship with Spike on instinct and dumb luck. Worse to know that someone she knew, knew enough about breaking people, to know how broken Spike should be.

"Spike's...adaptable,"she said finally.

Graham just blinked again.

"Look,"she said irritably,"he knows how to adapt."

Drusilla sort of being the very definition of chaos.

"It was like you said," she reminded him. "I was the alpha female. Vampires get that."

Graham's frown deepened and an odd look entered his eyes as his gaze flicked toward her closed bedroom door. "I may have been wrong about that," he said slowly.

His pen began to tap very slowly against his field journal.

She shrugged. "Close enough."

Graham clearly didn't agree, but he didn't disagree either.

And again...what was the big hairy deal? Spike had seen alot. More than she'd ever see, but he wasn't all that old as vampires went. Maybe that was why he adapted so well to technology. It hadn't been Xander using Willow's laptop to surf porn sites. Buffy remembered being shocked and disgusted when they'd discovered that browsing history.

Looking back though, there was one thing all the pictures had in common that she had missed at the time. Deviant or not, perverted or not, he hadn't been trolling for rape or mutilation or serial killer bondage fun. Which suddenly struck her as odd. It was odd, wasn't it? Considering some of the things she knew he had done.

"I think..."Graham started to say, then he froze, pupils dilating.

She turned her head to see Spike standing in the bedroom doorway, vamped out, yellow eyes fixed on her.

"Spike!"

"Starting a collection of toy soldiers, Slayer?"

"What?" She tried to make those words make sense as she came to her feet, all her senses screaming _vampire_! What? Of all the stupid... "Of course I am, you idiot. That's why _you_ woke up in my bed. Because I can't control myself around men in uniform."

Meanwhile, she inched closer to him, hovering uncertainly while he stared at her with bruised eyes and a hungry expression. She couldn't help the smile. It started somewhere around her toes. Her cheeks actually hurt, and she thought she probably looked ridiculous. She reached out with trembling fingers.

She didn't see the fist before it connected with her face.

"Keep your goddamn hands off me!" Spike snarled.

Buffy smacked into the floor, scattering technicians who dove to protect computer equipment. Graham made weird noises, like he was trying not to yell, and Ruarik just watched the whole situation as if it bored him. She glared at the big demon.

"Some bodyguard you are," she said acidly.

Ruarik shrugged.

"Where is she? Is she here too?" Spike demanded, growling as he staggered out into the apartment proper and started searching for something. Buffy regarded him warily. She had barely gotten back on her feet when Spike grabbed her by the shirt and started shaking her.

"Should I...?" Graham started warily.

"Stay the fuck out of this," Spike told him. Then he shook Buffy again. "What are you? Shapeshifter? Glamor witch? You got the smell right, but you obviously haven't ever met the Slayer. Where the fuck is she? Are you Wolfram and Hart? Is this one of the holding dimensions?"

"Spike?" Buffy said slowly," it's really me. You're inside the Wall."

He threw her away from him and glared around the apartment. "Luxury apartment? Slayer happy to see me? Don't bloody think so. Think you got me pegged, don't you? Well guess what? I'm not her bitch anymore, and I'm certainly not yours."

Graham was all but dancing in place, trying not to do something stupid.

Spike swung around, head lifting as he scented like a dog. "Where's Angel?"

He strode for the door. Buffy didn't want to tackle him unless it became necessary, but whatever weakness he'd had, he was shaking it off. He bounded down the stairs, literally taking them half a floor at a time. She leapt after him, barely keeping him in sight. Spike didn't even slow down when he hit the Inner Corridor. He blew past several soldiers carrying debris out of their apartments. He got to the castle gate and flung himself into the air.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Buffy yelled. "Get out of his way."

The soldiers opened the side door as soon as they recognized her. She ran into the courtyard a bare second after Spike hit the ground. He started stalking toward the North Tower. He must have smelled Angel on her clothes, she realized. He was following her backtrail. Before she could radio for Angel's location he came barreling out of the South Tower. Two Slayers carrying walkie talkies were on his heels.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a right drama queen there, Willie?"

Spike jerked to a halt, then turned slowly. "Angel?"

Angel regarded his grandchild narrowly.

Spike took a few cautious steps in his direction, then stopped to inhale carefully. Buffy didn't know why it annoyed her so much that he'd trust his own senses about Angel but not her.

Angel cocked an eyebrow. "Still human, Spike. Get over it."

It was like the tension in Spike's body turned liquid and ran out of him. His shoulders sagged and he shuffled over to Angel, his head bowed. He stood before him quietly, while Angel stared down at him, a confused expression on his face. Then Spike tilted his head back and Buffy could see the tears on his face.

"They took it," he said, sounding bewildered. "It's gone."

Angel closed his eyes briefly, then said softly. "I know."

Spike leaned forward to rest his forehead against Angel's chest, flinching slightly at the contact, but without the agonized screaming from before. Angel closed his arms around him unhesitatingly.

"I fought them," Spike whispered fiercely. "I fought. You know I did."

"I know, Spike," Angel said.

Buffy didn't know what to do as Spike cried. She heard people shuffling about uncertainly in the background and didn't know how to tell them to go away. She didn't even know if she was supposed to hug Spike or back off. She felt stupid and unnecessary as she stood there and watched Angel comfort _her_ vampire.

Spike was _hers_.

He was supposed to care that she cared he was alive. He was supposed to care that she'd left him in her bed and told everyone exactly where he was. He was supposed to care that he was here and she was here and the only thing he had cared to do was smack her in the face. She wrapped her arms around herself and waited for some sign, some indication of what she was supposed to do now.


	46. Chapter 46

_A scream._

_An undulating howl of unspeakable grief and torment pierced her soul and she ran. Buffy ran as she had always run. Toward the pain. Toward the darkness. Hot sand slipped beneath her feet, making footing treacherous, and she wept. And yet, it was not her grief as rocks tore open her flesh and left a bloody trail for anyone to find._

_A basket of something - berries perhaps - was still clutched in her hand, and she felt it fall away from her as she crested the hilltop and saw what lay beyond. Disbelief and despair clawed in her throat as she saw the bodies and she heard a howl break from her lips._

_Demons._

_Feasting on the flesh of her tribe._

_They must have heard her, but what did demons care about a single woman? Too old to be tender. Too weak to be a threat. Burned tough by the sun and bitter with age. Bloated as they were with younger flesh, she was not worth hunting. Tonight._

_"Your daughter is safe," a harsh voice said from behind her._

_She thought at first she imagined those words. Pulled them from hope and air._

_Then a hand closed painfully over her shoulder, nails stained with dirt and berry juice. She turned her head to gaze into the wild eyes of the Old Man. He who had lived, it was said, for over five generations. His white hair was snarled with branches and broken bits of feather. Braids, perhaps, that had fallen apart and into tangle._

_It was also said, the spirits had driven him mad._

_"Your sister ran, with your daughter and two others. They will be safe, with your mother's people."_

_She looked down onto abomination. At the obscenity that was the face of the night. Teeth and claws and blood that burned the flesh and she knew that nowhere was safe. Not from the demons. There was nothing left for her in this life. She had no value, no place to go._

_Her sister was old to be unmated, but her kin would see her settled. At eleven, it was possible Serobi could bear one child for the tribe. She still had years to offer. And a girl child, at six, was almost a woman. Another two seasons and she would bleed, if the gods were kind._

_There was no future left for an old woman._

_She had borne her first child and her mate had died before she could bear a second. The years after had been lean and hungry. Disease and starvation ever on the horizon. She was fifteen now. Her life more than half over. It was the rare woman who bore a living child at such an age and saw it safely to adulthood._

_There was always work, though, with a tribe who loved her. She could have tended her sister's family as she had tended her own. That was lost now. She could not damage her sister's chance of a good mating by burdening her with a woman the spirits had cursed._

_"I am tired Old Man," she said hopelessly. "My life is over."_

_The Old Man cackled, his laughter an ugly scar on a night already filled with horror._

_"Your life, Sineya, belongs to the Unseen," he whispered. "And it is just beginning."_


	47. Chapter 47

Spike could feel the Slayer standing at his back, a ruddy great blaze of power that was fair intoxicating and he felt his fangs ache at the thought of how all that power would taste. He wanted to drink it in, drown in the colors, and shove the heat and fire of her into the black emptiness Y'sa had left inside him. Spike could feel it, that emptiness.

It wasn't supposed to be there.

He'd never noticed the lack of his soul before. Not until he'd had it back and it had gotten so crowded inside him. All those voices. All those screams. He'd longed for emptiness then, but she'd needed him. She'd needed the fighter - the demon - not a wibbling boy knocked on his ass over crimes he hadn't committed. She'd needed the demon fighting, not holding back. Not terrified he'd forget, in the heat of battle. Or the heat of an argument.

Or just because he was hungry.

He didn't even know how he'd done it. He supposed it was just that both of him had wanted to please her. At the time, it had felt like a truce. He wasn't sure who he'd been those last few days in Sunnydale. A strange hybrid of demon and soul feeling his way back to life. At least Buffy could finally stand being around him. She...she hadn't hated him anymore. She hadn't hated herself for not hating him as much as everyone else thought he deserved.

Then she'd chosen him to die.

They'd all been dead, going into that fight. He'd had no illusions about that. He hadn't even made her ask him to wear the cursed thing. But he'd known she'd chosen to sacrifice him instead of Angel. He didn't blame her, and the demon had been satisfied by the decision. His death would be the gift his life couldn't give her.

He'd learned that from her.

He felt her reach out toward him and part of him longed to reach back and grab her hand. Pull her close and breath in the scent that was warm and human and uniquely Buffy. Part of him though still had some pride. He'd call it pride. It was a better word than fear or terror. He shoved away from Angel and spun on the ball of his foot, glaring at her.

"Don't touch me."

He spit the words out, and heard his own voice sounding low and harsh. Hard and angry. He saw her hand falter and fall away, hurt and confusion blooming in her eyes.

"Spike?" she asked tentatively. "It's me."

His bitter smile was twisted up with the knowledge of what she had done. "Know who you are, Slayer."

Her fingers twisted and curled restlessly. "Then I don't...what's wrong?"

" Not looking to be a charity case at the moment." He cultivated a mocking sneer from memory and nodded toward the git in fatigues, the one with his scent all over her apartment. "Take the boy toy and be off now."

She crossed her arms and tossed her head. "Please. Your nose isn't broken. "

Using his sense of smell against him - that was a new one. He wondered where her disgust and annoyance had gone. He supposed most of it had been embarrassment anyway. There were times the Slayer was more Victorian than he was. No matter. He still remembered why he was angry.

Her expression altered. "Spike..."

It was one word too many.

"Don't!" he spat." Don't tell me you're fucking sorry. You break a dish, you're fucking sorry. I gave you my _soul_. You were supposed to keep it safe."

That was the rub, wasn't it?

She was supposed to have kept his soul safe. She was supposed to have _cared_ that he gave it to her. She hadn't ever loved him, he knew that. He'd known it then, he knew it now. But she was the Slayer. Protecting souls was what she did. William had been an idiot, but he'd been innocent. He would have thought that was supposed to mean something to her.

"It trusted you," he said dully. "It _loved_ you."

And if it didn't matter that the soul had loved her, how much less was his own love worth?

"I had to make a choice," she said, something hard and angry in her eyes.

"Yeah?" he said, not really caring what her reasons were. He was sure they made perfect sense to her. "You made the wrong one."

"I didn't exactly have a whole lot of options, Spike! Y'sa would have killed you."

Well yeah. He kinda knew that already.

Never were playing for kitten stakes, when there were souls on the table.

"So?"

Her jaw dropped open. "So? What so? Why are you all mad about this? I chose _you, _Spike."

He snorted, running his eyes down her body with insult gaged to a precise degree. "Why exactly did you do that again?"

Hurt flashed in her eyes. "I..."

"Wasn't ever anything but a walking, talking dildo to you," he said flatly, "and you know it. Might as well have had 'shut-up, Spike' tattooed on my ass for all you had any interest in anything what came out of my mouth wasn't my tongue. So forgive me for being less than impressed now you're feeling all nostalgic."

Her mouth worked, but no sound emerged.

He snorted again, the obvious occurring to him. Wasn't all that hard to figure once he forced himself to accept how little his soul had meant to her. All tainted as it was by association, he supposed.

"Or _maybe_..," he said, dragging out the word," maybe you're wondering about the downside to your happy little ending." He eyed her cynically."Wondering if gramps there can keep up with you now he's human? Is that it? Got some plan for me to be your bit on the side?"

Her eyes narrowed and her chin lifted. "Is that an offer?"

Part of him floundered, flopping about as ever she had hooked him good. He'd been expecting a right cross. Or a high kick to the side of his head. Or maybe he'd just been hoping. It would have made things easier.

"No," he denied flatly."Not from me." He finally did what he'd never managed to do before. He took a step back. "Not anymore."

It was like watching crystal shatter. He guessed she felt guilty. She was good at that. That was all it was. But some part of him fancied he could feel pain that didn't feel like his. Deep inside, in the empty pit where there was no feeling at all. In the end though, it must have been his imagination. Her mouth tightened and she nodded sharply. Then she gestured toward two of the most dangerous demons on the bloody planet and pointed at him.

"Take him back to my room," she said curtly. "He's to stay chained up. No exceptions."

Then she turned and walked away.

Spike snarled softly, angry and ... more angry. Not like she didn't have practice with that move either. He didn't know why he had expected anything different. It wasn't worth protesting when the Ruarik growled at him.


	48. Chapter 48

"You know...I think that's a good look for you."

Spike glanced at the chains around his wrists and gave Angel a two-fingered salute. Spike quickly flipped the cover over on the drawing pad, but not before Angel caught a look at the subject matter. Buffy, of course. Big surprise. Angel closed the bedroom door in case one of the computer techs came back from lunch early.

"You know she doesn't have a clue why you're so pissed off," he said bluntly.

With Spike, there was just no point to being subtle.

Spike grunted. "Not my fault the dozy cow doesn't do her homework."

"Yeah...and I'm thinking the fact she released your soul isn't the only reason you're being an ass."

Spike clenched his hands. "Reason enough."

Angel looked around for a chair, then settled gingerly onto Buffy's side of the bed. He ignored Spike's warning rumble and sat there trying to figure out why he was even trying to fix this. Whatever this was.

"She gave it away!"Spike suddenly burst out. "She held it in her hands and it didn't matter enough to keep it. She was supposed to protect it, Angel. That's what she does." He looked away as his voice dropped. "As long as it's not mine, I guess."

Angel frowned. "I don't understand why you did it in the first place."

Spike kept his head angled so Angel couldn't see his eyes. "You know what I did," Spike said tonelessly. " You know I almost...I got the soul so I could take care of her. So she could trust me. This way...no one could take it away from her or use it against her. And if she ever needed it..." his voice trailed off.

Angel just looked at him with disbelief.

They both knew what sort of ritual would demand a vampire's soul.

Spike grimaced. "I know she wasn't ever going to love me. But at least she'd finally have to believe me. There'd be proof. She would know it was real. I could feel it, Angel. That stupid wanker curled up in his ball and oozed emotion all over her. All he wanted to do was love her. She had to have felt it. She didn't even need to love him back. She could have carried him around like a damn pet if she wanted. "

Spike's expression was so far beyond bewildered that Angel didn't have a word for it. Like the laws of the universe had stopped working, but only for Spike, and he didn't know why.

"She's the Slayer, Angel," Spike whispered."How could she do that?"

Angel fell backwards on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "You know you'd be dead right now, if she hadn't."

Spike shrugged.

"And you know you're the reason she's not sleeping with me."

Spike scowled. "Like I should do you any favors."

Angel shrugged lightly. "I'm just saying she cares enough about you, not to be sleeping with me."

"So?"

"So how long until you forgive her,"Angel demanded irritably.

Poking him with that sort of stick should have had Spike crowing like a rooster. Bloody banty-tailed English bastard. Angel frowned when Spike just lowered his head and glared at the chains on his wrists. A situation that obviously didn't bother him too much, because if it had, the hyperactive idiot would have worried at them until his wrists bled. Angel looked at the smooth unmarked skin beneath the metal.

Before he could comment, a light tap at the bedroom door had him glancing at Spike with confusion. That confusion only increased when the door opened slowly, revealing blond hair and hesitant green eyes. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him and he felt Spike tense beside him.

Angel smiled awkwardly at the odd look on her face. A slight flush began working its way across her face. Given how protective she'd been of Spike lately he gave her a hasty explanation." I didn't come here to fight...I swear."

Spike gave a nasty grin."That's okay, Angel. The Slayer here is just a little hot and bothered by something."

Buffy glared at Spike as she stepped into the room and the thermos in her hand whacked down on the bedside table with enough force to vibrate the bed. Spike glanced at it and lost his smile. In fact, his whole face went hard.

"Whose is it?" Spike demanded.

For a moment, Angel froze. Then the hurt on her face registered as did the substance of what Spike had asked. Black fury rose out of nowhere, as Spike _dared_...

One fist wrapped itself into the front of Spike's shirt and yanked him forward as Angel jack-knifed into a sitting position. "You miserable bastard,"he roared. "You think you're going to use this to blackmail her into giving up something she wouldn't otherwise?"

"Angel..." Buffy said, as Spike just raised an unconcerned eyebrow.

Angel shook Spike furiously, like the mongrel cur he was. "Is that how you say you love her? I should have staked you the moment Dru brought you home, you worthless piece of ..."

And just like that he was flying. He had one glimpse of startled blue eyes, then he was slammed into the wall, breath exploding from his lungs in a whoosh. A small hand pinned him easily, three inches off the floor.

"Don't you EVER call him worthless again," Buffy snarled.

"But..."

"NEVER!"

He stared at her wide-eyed, months as a human as nothing to the two plus centuries as a vampire screaming at him to stay very quiet, and hope that the angry Slayer went away. He hung limply, not protesting her hold. And not quite believing she was that angry. Not at him. Over Spike?

"For the record," Buffy said coldly," I offered. He wasn't interested."

Angel flicked a searching look at Spike, but there were no answers there. Spike was watching Buffy, a strange hungry look on his face that Angel almost recognized. It disappeared when she let Angel go, and there was nothing to be seen of it when she turned around. All that was there for her was arrogance and disdain.

Angel rubbed at his chest and tried to figure out what was going on.

She walked back to Spike, stepping carefully around the bed until she was standing next to the bedside table. She reached out slowly, picking up the thermos, then her fingers tightened and she held it out tentatively.

"It's not mine," she said, but her eyes were pleading with him. Angel had never seen her beg. Even when she had kicked his ass for giving up, she hadn't really been begging. It had been her pain she had offered, not her pride.

She was begging now.

Spike just scowled and swiped the thermos from her hand. "Good,"he said harshly.

She looked...devastated. As if she'd played her last card and couldn't believe she had lost. Angel might have been confused when it came to Spike's motives, but recognized the look on her. It was the look of a man who was going home to blow his brains all over the study wall.

She didn't cry.

Angel almost wished she would, but she didn't.

Spike spoke again, his voice derisive. "Wouldn't have yours if you paid me." Then he laughed maliciously.

The click of the closing door was overly loud in the suddenly too quiet room. Angel just slid down the wall and sat on the floor, unable - no, _unwilling _- to believe the absolute cruelty of that last statement. Angelus at his worst, couldn't have done better. There was no way that had been an accident.

"Spike? What the hell are you..."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the cascading hiss warned him. The room shuddered as a maddened demon hit the end of his chains, yellow-eyed and frothing. Angel scrambled sideways, ignoring the Ruarik demons that tumbled into the room. They pulled up sharply at the sight of the feral-eyed monstrosity flinging himself against the chains again and again. Spike's fangs shredded his own lips and blood poured down his face.

Angel and the Ruarik watched in silence until he wore himself out.

When Spike finally lay sprawled across the bed, growls faded to harsh panting, Angel crawled slowly to his feet. He moved cautiously, so as not to set off the demon glaring at him from the bed. He walked out into the living room and found two terrified computer techs alternately watching the computer monitors and casting frightened looks at the bedroom door.

Someone was moving about in the third bedroom.

"I have something I have to do,"she said flatly, when he appeared in the doorway. She was cramming clothing and art supplies into a red and black backpack. "I can't do it with him here."

She wrenched open the closet, then stood there peering pointlessly inside when she realized there was nothing in it. She gave the backpack in her hands a look, like it had displeased her somehow, then she slammed the door shut. She looked up, dry-eyed.

"He's your responsibility," she said grimly.

He gaped at her. "You want me to look after _that_?"

She threw the backpack at him, and he caught it awkwardly. "He's not getting better here."

"Buffy," Angel said slowly,"much as I _really_ don't want to say this, Spike needs you."

She turned on him furiously. "How? How does he need me?" She stabbed one finger toward the door. "He won't let me touch him, I sleep on the sofa. I can't hold him. He can't stand to be in the same room as me. He won't let me apologize and he won't touch my blood. My blood, Angel. I've _never_...not the whole time I've known him. And he acts like it's diseased."

He shifted uncomfortably.

He didn't understand it either.

"It's just some Spike thing," he said awkwardly. More than a little resentfully.

He didn't know why Spike was suddenly his mess to fix.

She gave a pained laugh. "I keep telling myself that if I don't let him push me away, maybe he'll believe me. That what he did for me still _means _something. But the more I stay, the more he hates me."

"He doesn't..." Angel broke off when she glared at him. Even he didn't believe that one. What he'd just witnessed had looked a hell of a lot like hatred to him.

"Why is he so angry?" she whispered. "I _chose_ him. Angel, I chose _him_."

He grimaced, and looked away. Not wanting to be the one to tell her the truth. Although someone needed to tell her the truth and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Spike. Assuming she was listening.

"Angel...?" she said, and the warning note in her voice pissed him off.

"You're the Slayer, Buffy," he said finally."And you have this thing about souls. " Her mouth twisted and he couldn't help the guilt he always felt when he remembered.

"Gee...I wonder why," she said sharply.

Angel gripped the pack tighter. "That's not what I...you don't understand."

He wasn't positive, but that almost sounded like a growl coming from her throat. He eyed her warily.

"No,"she said shortly."I don't _understand_. This would be me not _understanding_. This would also be me asking you - again - to explain it to me. So I can _understand_."

"Fine,"Angel snapped. "You want the truth? You used him, Buffy. You used him, and idiot that he is, he thought it meant something. "

"It did mean something."

Angel ignored the look in her eyes and snorted. "Yeah. It meant you despised yourself even more than you despised him."

She started to say something, then narrowed her eyes. He'd never underestimated her battle instincts, but the intelligence studying him sort of unnerved him. He shook off the feeling. She wanted to understand? She was damn well going to understand.

"Christ, Buffy, you're the Slayer. The Chosen One. The fucking Golden Queen. He knows he's damned. He gave you the only thing he had that was worthy of you. "

She threw up her hands and he could almost taste her desire to hit something.

"He'd have died!" she yelled."Don't either of you understand that? He'd have _died_. He'd have been _gone_. Forever. There would have been nothing left."

_"He doesn't care!"_

They both froze as the echoes of that truth died away.

Angel sighed and forced himself to run a hand through his hair. His heart pounding in an unfamiliar way. " He doesn't care. You're the _Slayer_. The final judge as far as he's concerned. You held his soul in your hand, Buffy. His _soul_. Everything he was before I destroyed him. Everything that was innocent and human and worthy of loving someone like you. And you judged it to have less value than a monster you hate."

She just stared at him. Then her mouth tightened. "You're wrong about that."

She shoved past him and disappeared into the second empty bedroom. When she emerged she was holding a tranquilizer rifle. He didn't follow her into the master bedroom. Just waited for the growls and the shot and the silence. When she came back out, her eyes were hard and Spike was slung over the shoulder of the largest Ruarik. The chains were still attached to his wrists, the other ends held in the other Ruarik's hands.

"Ruarik will get him settled," she said coldly. "At least two of the escort will be with him at all times. Keep him safe."

Angel looked from her icy green eyes to the unconscious figure dangling like a child's discarded toy and couldn't help a burst of anger on Spike's behalf. The vampire was an annoying idiot, but he was Angel's idiot and he didn't deserve to be shoved out the door like so much trash.

Thrown out maybe, when he was conscious.

But not thrown away.

"You're really going to do it," he said slowly. "It's just that simple for you?"

"I have a job to do," she said with deliberate emphasis. "I can't do it with him here."

"Buffy..."

She threw the tranquilizer rifle at him. He raised one hand reflexively, wincing when it smacked into his palm.

"Just go," she said tonelessly. "Take Spike and go."

He wasn't going to change her mind, he realized. He wasn't going to change her mind, and he wasn't actually certain he wanted to. He looked at Spike and wondered what would be worse. Waking up chained in Angel's apartment, or being forced to listen while he was exiled for being hurt and angry and loud about it. For not being other than what he was.

It would have been kinder to kill him.

"You know,"he said tightly," did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason the whole boyfriend thing didn't work out for you is that we're just too damned inconvenient?"

She didn't react. Just gave him a level look, then turned to the monitors and the frightened techs staring at her.

She didn't look back when he left.


	49. Chapter 49

_The Old Man chained her to the earth._

_She frowned at the restraints and asked why. She was willing to give anything the gods required._

_"You say that now," the Old Man said. "But the gods are terrible to look upon. This is how it is done."_

_She said nothing further. Simply watched as he muttered to himself and drew circles in the sand. When he was satisfied, he sat in the center and waited._

_"I do not know how to fight," Sineya said finally._

_When would she have had time to learn? When she carried her daughter? While her breasts were hard and painful with milk? In the lean years, when the hunters returned empty-handed, and thin soup made of roots and insects painstakingly gathered by the women was all that kept the tribe from starvation?_

_"You will know how to fight," the Old Man said._

_"If you need a warrior, why not ask the hunters?" Sineya asked, curious._

_The Old Man glared at her. "The hunters are needed. You are an old woman. You will not be missed."_

_Sineya did not take offense at his bluntness. It was true. Her daughter was far past needing milk, and Serobi was there to give her guidance in the ways of being a woman. It was not precisely true, that Sineya had nothing to offer, but she would not be missed. Her hands might have been welcomed in the fields, by the women. Weeding and gathering fruit. But the Old Man was still a man, and did not think of these things._

_Besides, she tired more easily these days._

_And her bones had started to ache on cold nights._

_Her eyes widened then, at the sound of feet on the cave floor. Amazed, she stared in wonder and no little fear at the three men who walked solemnly around the circle and came to the Old Man._

_They were all old._

_All of them. Older than the most experienced hunter. Older than the oldest woman she ever knew. Although not, perhaps, older than the Old Man. And they were fat. All of them. Thick layers of muscle covered with rich layers of fat. Enough that she had to wonder if they had ever gone hungry._

_They said nothing to her._

_The Old Man stood and turned to her as the sound of drums began to shiver through the ground at her feet. It echoed, and deepened, until her ears filled and she thought it became the very sound of the earth itself, alive and beating._

_"Sineya," the Old Man said,"these men bear witness to your sacrifice. To the binding of your blood to the heart of the demon."_

_Sineya could barely hear over the pounding in her head and the beat of the drums. The men began to chant, slamming their staffs against the earth. Then she picked apart the sense of what the Old Man had said. Her head jerked up, and she met his sorrowful eyes._

_The Old Man picked up a box and his hands shook as he pulled back the lid._

_The smell choked her. Fetid and foul, like a hyena kill, left too long in damp earth. Black mist filled the air and she yanked at the chains binding her. This could not be happening. Surely the gods could not demand this._

_"It must bind with you, to give you its strength," the Old Man said. "To give you its power."_

_And would she birth a monster, then? If it came inside her? Sineya yanked harder at the chains. She had agreed. She had told herself she agreed to any sacrifice, if it would protect her family. But how was she to accept this? What would she become? Would she become as a beast? Would she become a demon herself?_

_Just before it touched her, she brought her head down and glared at the Old Man._

_"I do not forgive you," she said._

_He did not answer._

_And then she burned, and there was no breath left, except for screaming._


	50. Chapter 50

_Buffy was supposed to be dead._

Angel pondered that truth as he watched the Ruarik get Spike settled. It was not the first time he had considered that truth. Nor was it the first time he had wondered when life had gotten so damn complicated. It had never been easy, but he thought he'd known what the universe expected of him.

Redemption.

Restitution.

Resolve.

Whistler had shown him that, the day he had taken Angel to see a Slayer Called.

Weak, wretched filth that he was; crawling in alleys and living on rats, he had loved her. He had taken one look at Buffy and he had loved her. She'd made him want to be different. She'd been pure and innocent and she had looked so much like an angel. And then she died. It was what Slayers did. It was what humanity did.

It was what was _intended_.

A life with her had never been fated to happen. He'd been meant to go on without her. He'd been _prophesied_ to go on without her, although he hadn't known about the Shanshu prophecy at the time. In that other future, that other reality, he would have succeeded or failed on his own merits and - although always with her example - without her help.

She would never have even met Spike. Angelus would never have been freed. Jenny Calendar might not have died and, somewhere in that past that had never happened, Angel had saved the world from Acathla. He wouldn't have left her, he wouldn't have loved her as completely as he did, and maybe...

Maybe he wouldn't have lost Connor.

He...it...it wasn't her fault. He told himself he didn't blame her, but Angel knew he would have left Sunnydale after she died. He supposed he even would have gone to L.A. Not right away. He liked to think he would have tried to help her friends first, but eventually he would have gone. Doyle would have sought him out.

Wolfram and Hart would still have brought back Darla.

Connor would still have happened.

Not Wesley though. Wesley wouldn't have been there to translate Sajahn's prophecy. Holtz would have happened but without Wesley to betray him, Conner might never have been lost. Jasmine would still have been waiting, of course. He'd never understood if she'd given Cordy the visions, or simply taken advantage of the fact Doyle had given them to her. But if Conner had grown up normally - with Angel and Cordelia - or if Cordelia had never found him, then Connor wouldn't have...

Not with Cordelia.

Jasmine would have taken someone else.

He'd told Buffy once, that it wasn't the demon that needed killing, it was the man. Buffy had made him want to be a better man, but the truth was, he wasn't. He wasn't good. He'd never been good. Not like Buffy. Maybe though, a lifetime with Connor could have changed that. Maybe he would have stopped wanting to be a better man, and actually become one.

And if the man informed the demon, what would that have made of Angelus?

It was a thought.

But it didn't tell him what he was supposed to do now.

Buffy was supposed to be dead. Spike was supposed to be dead or trapped in Acathla's demon dimension, because if Angel was supposed to save the world from Acathla, it must have been Spike who woke it up. Angel was supposed to be the only vampire with a soul. Now Buffy was alive, Spike was alive, and Angel was human. Spike had fallen in love with the Slayer and had fought for his soul. _Fought for it_. Angel suspected it was the answer to a question none of them even knew how to ask.

Not _the_ question, Eligor's Question.

But question enough.

Buffy was rewriting the past, the present, and the future simply by existing. So where did that leave Angel? Nothing was automatic. Nothing was guaranteed. Was he doing what the Powers intended, or had he simply let himself be used? Could he be human and still be a Champion? Was it even enough, that he was human? Had he done enough to be forgiven?

He didn't know anymore.

And no one was stepping forth to tell him.


	51. Chapter 51

_They called her the Ghost Woman._

_The hunters claimed to have seen her, her skin painted white, and the small bones of demons dangling in her hair. She was a demon herself, they claimed. Faster than a man, and leaving no trace of her passing. And yet, Serobi knew. It was Sineya._

_She had dreamed of her._

_Of her battles with the night demons._

_Serobi whispered the name of her sister. She whispered it to her son, as he nursed. She whispered it to herself as the night closed in and she sat at her fire making baskets. And in the morning, when she emerged from her hut to find a fresh-killed antelope, or fine leopard skin lying in her doorway, she whispered it to the air, so that the gods would know that her sister was not forgotten._

_The old men muttered and shook their heads at these strange gifts, and yet the tribe did not refuse the meat. They grew sleek and strong and none had died of hunger in almost four years. Combining the land held by their slain cousins with their own, the tribe had enough food for everyone to survive the Dry Times._

_Serobi straightened from where she tended her small grove of berry bushes and wondered if Sineya knew her gifts had given birth to ambition. With the confidence that came from full bellies, the hunters were eyeing the lands to the south, claiming the tribes there were stealing too much water. In truth, the berries needed more water, but Serobi was not fool enough to claim theft._

_There were simply more mouths to feed, this year than last._

_She often thought if men had more to do than sit around the fire, gossiping and playing games of chance, there would be less talk of war. Her own mate spent most of his day there, smoking jiraba weed and exchanging stories of past hunts. At four, her son was old enough that he had stopped helping her in the fields and spent his day with his father around the fire._

_Serobi eyed the weeds taking water from her fruit bushes and knew her day would be long and hard. There would be a meal to prepare, and clothing to repair. If the hunters did indeed take the lands to the south, she would tell her mate to take a second woman. One young enough to work a full day without tiring. There would be no hands to do all the work otherwise._

_Uneasily, she considered that a second woman might be a good thing, even if the hunters did not war to the south. Serobi did not yet have the breasts of an old woman, although her son's teeth had pulled them toward her belly. She was strong, with fat on her bones, and a second child sheltering inside her. Still, she did not think she would live to see either of her children mated._

_Last night, she had dreamed of the Old Man._

_He had shown her visions of the night demons and the evil they spawned. He had shown her what would happen if they proved victorious. Her son and mate, dead on the hot sands, their blood spilling from torn throats. Sineya's daughter and her daughters ripped open for food. Their entrails feeding the hyenas._

_Serobi had howled in despair, begging him to tell her what must be done to prevent it. What sacrifice she must make to the gods. Even, yes, even her own life if they would accept it. He had looked at her with solemn eyes and laid his gnarled hand against her breast._

_"Someday soon, Serobi, the gods will ask you a question. Deep in your heart, is where it will whisper. When the time comes, be prepared to answer."_


End file.
